Contentions:

I don't agree with that--

I'm eating mashed potatoes.  That I made last night.  Right out of the huge pot.

I'm watching Pawn Stars.  I love that show and I wanna go visit that store in Vegas and look at some crazy old antiques and Americana.

You play so beautifully it makes me cry.  I wish you'd break the rules more often.

I'm thirsty for water and nothing else. 

It may be superficial, supercilious, a superfluous something or all the aforementioned, but one of the traits I still most admire in a man is a good solid poker face.

I haven't been able to sleep for the past five days. 

Mostly, I've lost my taste for cigarettes. 

Redux

My insomnia as of late could only be described as RAGING.

I get tired and I know deep down I'm tired but whenever I drift off, and as soon as I do, within 30 minutes or so, I wake up, body burning, heart pumping, limbs burning for intense physical movement, eyelids heavy but mind keenly alert....... regardless of what sleeping pills, or hour, or improved "sleep hygiene" i.e. conscious and deliberate abstaining from computers, techtronics, LED lights in general.... and there's been a general all-prevailing sort of emotional RAWNESS from the inside out of me-- something nothing like depression though very likely physiological and definitely NOT idiopathic, fact, for once in my life I don't think it'd be... UNWISE... to consider the possibility that maybe something IS wrong and needs to be addressed as opposed to just chalking it up, without a second thought, to the behavior and/or misbehavior of my neurotransmitters.  Though, well, it is that.  It is that, that and residue.  Because I've rather addressed, introspected, and addressed that which needs to be addressed, not that doing so provides an immediate solution, cuz, fact, I've addressed it a million times, inwardly, and outwardly, slowly as is my fashion, more Tortoise than Hare, so what, I prefer to think before I speak or take action.......... I'm even relatively slow out here on the West Coast where things are thought to be slow, and I've come to accept this after my years in New Amsterdam wherein folks react halfway through the causal action's completion, and seem to harbor an arsenal of retorts and genuinely witty dismissals on their tongues, that, for all their silvery steel, serve to do nothing but stop a conversation in its tracks....  Verbal cluster bombs, Geneva-ban notwithstanding, that land, with precision, at a target suggestion, and proceed to detonate upon contact, releasing shells and shrapnel propelled so furiously from the center out as to knock out all other existing ideas as well.  ...

...That still happens here, too...

Anyway, what was this rant about?

Oh yeah, rawness and residue. 

Naw it makes sense to be chemical.

I was abed and food poisoned for days, taking equine doses of sedative and now I'm still both illness-affected and in some minor withdrawal, and, perhaps a resultant mania. 

Whaddya gonna do.

More time to meself and to write, that's never a bad thing. 

 

My cozy little place...

...has gotten cozier with the addition of my happy 5' Christmas tree.... there's now a veritable nook with couch and antique sleek black table around my tree, for whom I've made some ornaments already, 3 angels flying together, one after the other, out of some white lace ribbon I happened to have... a bit of tinsel and some red and gold nail polish splattered glass discs...

I've gotten caught up on a lot of work.... things seem to be all right..... I needed that, that 3 days of sleep I guess.  As usual.  As I so often do.

I just had food poisoning...

...that was bad.  The universe is REALLY telling me to stop and think about things, I think.  Though, it was hard to even THINK the past couple days.  I mean that was crippling GROSS.

The only voyage

The only voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
~Marcel Proust

I TOLD YOU THERE WAS SOMETHING WICKED IN THE AIR.  SEE????

Almost a comically bad day, this one. 

Oh, what's it gonna, what's it gonna,

What's it gonna be
say
look like
say like
this time?

What's it gonna be this time around, what's it gonna,

Like opening a Christmas card. 

Or unwrapping a-

Diarist on Diary

There's some good news and some bad news. 

Tails: It's Midwest-cold out here; uncharacteristically and seasonably BRICKass cold.
Heads:  "A Love Supreme" is a winter record.

Tails:  I have a pressing and unwieldy to-do list.
Heads:  I've learned by now to simplify that shit into actionable items.

Actionable Items.  And to prioritize them to a degree.  My priority, upon getting back from the gym, was first to scribble out my rent check and slip under my landlady's mailbox-- simple, actionable.  Done.  And second, to play with Masha.  For a long time too, with the feather-toy.  These are the most pressing items.  I am filled with such an intense love for and from my kitten lately, it's kind of terrifying. 

Heads:  I've been playing feather-toy through full volumeblasting I. Acknowledgment, II. Resolution, and 8 minutes of III. Pursuance, until just now when--
Tails:  Fckn landlady just called to turn down the music so
Heads:  After an at-unsneezable 23 minutes I had to stop, which allowed me to continue onto item 3 of my list, which is Writing this Blog Entry.

What can I tell you, Dear Diary, you incorrigible Loudmouth? 

The world spins me around as it has and will ever. 

My heart is a stone as it has always been and ever will be.

............................................

Somehow I've gotten this gig translating this diary... I think I mentioned it.  I'm the only person who has possession and understanding of the original documents, no one has in months, bakers dozen or more, been able to decipher this thing, professionals notwithstanding-- professionals being, in fact, really all's who've given it a crack...  I'm finding myself extremely competent for some reason, devising and insisting on a method, additional resources-- downright finicky demands, these-- and setting a schedule, and just generally acting like I know what I'm doing.  Like, I'm pulling this shit out of my ass, to be frank.  But I'm not really.  I mean it works, it's working, I'm tearing through it, and like, I'm asking for things scanned and printed a very particular way because it works best.  I'm asking for all relevant names, places, technologies, because those are potential tripper-ups, illegible mountain ranges, EEG readouts, nonsense and when one is writing for themselves, it's all names and pseudonyms and code it's all code it's psychology really it's fucking INTUITION that's all it is don't harangue on something you can't read just keep going, go with your impulse, get to know the person and it'll be a breeze............

I don't know, it's working, I really didn't think I'd manage, when presented with the first sheet of the document for perusal, I felt like something of an ass for saying so cavalierly "Oh, I can do that easily, I speak both those languages, no problem," upon overhearing the documentarians' dilemma-- it was chicken scratch-- and I wondered when I'd have to gracefully regretfully bow out-- but, as it so happens, I don't have to do that and here I am, a being already nonlinear and temporally irrespect, now peeking out of the dark, heavy-lidded, twinkling (or so photos inform) eyes of an inventor, Russian-born immigrant living in Switzerland in the 1920s just as the world is about to go kooky, passing weeks in a day, in a day as I've set my deadlines at an entry per-- and that is not all I have to say Dear D, but that is all I'll say right now. 

dear diary:

the year is drawing to a close
the hours have grown so short
and the evening has grown so dim

but the light in me and the light in you will never dim
the pain in my heart is fresh as red as crimson tide
the wound only opens anew
with every setting crimson sun

i ask nothing
simply say

that i have not forgotten you
that i'm still here