it’s almost as if the powers that be (you know, the ones who control the weather) have decided to follow the calendar to the letter.
labor day, end of the summer season. and tonight it smells like autumn. big moon up in the sky, crisp and cool, how strange.
what’s next, snow on christmas? a cool breeze blowing the leaves around on hallowe’en?
big puffy clouds on july 4th?
i have no idea what i’m writing about, by the way.
but this is certainly better than standing in the bus station and yelling about these things to passers-by, right? then i’d go to jail. then i’d be a crackpot (or at least an incarcerated crackpot).
i love that expression, ‘crackpot’. and ‘knucklehead’. and, of course, ‘dimwit’. our cup runneth over, linguistically.
do they have such clever derogatory terms in other languages?
‘cabeza de pollo’?
again, i have no idea what i’m writing about. i’m just procrastinating.
my studio is waiting for me. beckoning….’moby, come and work…you’re not getting any younger…time waits for no man….carpe diem…etc’
my studio actually does say ‘etc’ to me.
let me see, what painful memories can i dredge up from my past to entertain you guys with…hmm…the time i single-handedly fought off a herd of jackals who were trying to eat the busload of nuns and orphans…the time that a dumptruck fell out of the sky and hit me on the head…oh, how about that time when i fell down an open subway grate and ended up in narnia? that was good.
remind me to tell you about it sometime.
i have to stop procrastinating now.
-moby