(and there are no barking sparrows....)

mmm. i love those candies that taste like lavender. not the gum, tho, which tastes musty to me.

the person sitting next to me right now smells like i didn't know i sometimes used to smell, which is of morning damp tobacco smoke and hour old coffee...it is not particularly pleasant but is nostalgic. as completely botarded as it is, i miss the mechanics of smoking. i miss the little realizations and conversations and romanticisms (even if somewhat cliched-like those coffee/cigarette ruminations)that sometimes come about only because of it. that's about it though-i never realized what a little slave it makes you.

i saw this excellent movie called me and you and everyone else we know, parts of which keep popping in my head and turning round in there. all in all it was extremely well done, lots of parts to make you squirm but i like that sometimes.

hm. har. i feel like writing, but topics aren't really coming well, so i will give up and perhaps go make some soup.

they used to.

Dickens wrote an entire world in the line "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." He could have written that anytime and it would be true. I try to keep this in mind when i am feeling especially glum about the state of the world. what do i know, i haven't lived long enough to make an accurate judgement about what exactly is happening to us as a society, perhaps i never will be able to make one and perhaps i ought not to, don't really want to. what would that solve, after all, one person's lifelong observation of the world. write a memoir, for chrissakes. or just write.

the baby has been doing trapeze artist tricks in there, and it creates the god-weirdest ache in my cervix. 'ow, my cervix' is a curious thing to be saying a few times a day. i cannot quite tell which body part is causing the sharp one-two jabs. all of them, i think.

here is a tiny rhyme about it:

my baby floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee
it's my cervix vs. muhammed ali
punch and jab and kick and spar
out of myself is beaten the tar.



also, i'm so sentimental these days. over the weekend i almost started crying because of takeo spikes's achilles tendon thing. i don't even know what the man looks like, that's how much i follow football. but man, that's a tough row to hoe.

it would be my fortune that just as i finally procure a library card, the library closest to me is closing, permanently. the flourescent paper that declares so is quite sad. though i accept that some libraries *have* to close, and that the 'system' is doing its best to keep all areas of the city well served. we have been lucky so far in that (previously) we were in the top five cities for libraries per capita, or something like that. also, most other libraries charge you to request items and to rent movies, buffalo's didn't (but will starting october 1st, blech).

also there was a fairly entertaining dylan doc on pbs last night, which continues tonight. some of the footage was quite astounding, it provided a nice pictorial/video supplement to the 'story,' which was basically dylan's own 'chronicles: vol 1' with some interviews of contemporaries thrown in. that's why i say 'fairly entertaining' since if you read the book, the film (at least this first part) isn't telling you anything you don't already know. plus if you are a big dylan fan you will most likely already know a ton of this stuff. but dylan's own commentary is a great deal less miserable and vague than seen previously and he actually gets a light in his eyes during a few reminisces. it occured to me, both reading the book and seeing the film, that fame like his is not in the least enviable. you have three, maybe four generations putting all this meaning on songs, words, feelings, and attitudes you can never recreate. deifying you. you yourself may have never known the meaning, and after a certain time, your life changes and you probably don't care like you once may have. you tour, you keep performing since that is your line of work, but (most of) the crowd is expecting those old washed out now threadbare anthems you've done thousands of times, in countless versions, endless cities, in front of hundreds of thousands of old timers and kid hippies, for decades. i'd be pretty miserable as well. but, at what price fame. and i'm making him sound all played out and used up, as if he relies on all those old tunes to get him through, when really 'love and theft' kicks ass. judging from a show i saw a few years back in columbus, he has himself an excellent time playing from that. he's writing his memoirs and appearing in films by martin scorsese, about him. i guess life can't be too bad.

last night i dreamed of two massive eagles with especially large claws, flying just a few feet from the surface of some pristine lake who knows where, hopefully somewhere on this earth, a secret place on mama nature's body as yet undefiled by man's repugnant touch...

anyhow, one of the eagles spotted its catch and swooped down, scooping with its claws but missing, so very quickly it plunged itself into the water in a shallow arc and emerged victorious in the air with a monstrous, delectable salmon. it was awesome. i felt that.

yesterday i witnessed a very happy, very large man riding an old fashioned aqua blue bicycle.

a few days before that, i got to see my baby's face in 4D.

the world is fucking amazing, in't it?

sparrow (finally) caught a bird and left it for us for a present. unfortunately, it was not discovered until it set to stinkin in the 'junk' room we don't use that much. so paul swept it up and dumped it in the trash. i feel bad because i had always kept it in mind that when cats do that it is truly giving a gift, and he should be praised and thanked appropriately. well, who knows when he actually dropped it off, and since the reaction was less than stellar, he may not ever do this again. aw. sorry, little hunter. carry on, do.