one more cup of coffee for the road...

Now i am posting before 3am... I'm wondering if it will make an iota of a difference. I'm not sure if its just erratic word cohesion or some odd form of writer's block, like you are fooling around with the words in hopes of eventually, by default, getting the exact word that pinpoints that spark in your brain. So its like the Chochmah crashing around into to many manifestation of malfunctioning Binah, but nothing really connecting, never quite making it to the typerwriter. narly and yet so uncool. So i'm blogging pretty often (i hate vacation when i start to hate vacation) but i'm not saying all that much. i know a lot of people like that in the sans cyber world.... ;) its a sign (lighting hits) from the Good Lord that i should have stayed in the Holy Land. All my spring classes have been mysteriously dropped, vavooom! disappeared without a trace. No one knows what happened, but once your classes are gone they are unretrievable (cuz some other lucky dude already got my spots). So much for having early registration privileges.... now i'm stuck scraping off the bottom of the food chain (welcome to Amebaville). The only way i justify this major inconvience is by reconciling it with a divine providence of sorts. (I'm now waiting to win the lottery, or just NOT get hit by a bus) Enter The Lord of Hosts: hindy's crashed college schedule. nice entrance point for Divinity in the overall drama.

Yesterday I was told that my poems make no sense and are not worth reading (people said and still say that about Sylivia Plath...[and a million others] too). ;) thanks petite pois (haha convoluted compliment). too bad. sayeth the Wizard of Oz (he's considering giving your heart to the TinMan). me bloggie, me scribbilage. and so goes it. (tho i wish you'd post your objections instead of sounding them out in smoke polluting Morse code). So i have a book in my head called "3 1/2 years", memoirs that are about the drama of my friends and I from the entombed ages of 16-19 (ah the image of your life in a lava lamp). I'm thinking of the major characters and character roles we got to work in....grandpa with the white glove, PIG (who i just saw yesterday chasing me down the street in his big ugly tinted car) Jack the Ripper, Hannah Barbarah, Leeser, Mir, Rosario, The Dude, Rick, Ferkie, Moe, Per, Yumsters, Nahama... etc. and of course me. doesn't it ever occur to you what a great story our lives would make? I think about it all the time... and i keep trying to start the damn thing. You just can't make some of this stuff up....I am all open to suggestions. So many starts and no beginnings.....ugh. all i have is bits and pieces, journal entries...all our yungun Pink Floyd interpetations, telepathic essays, looney tune cyber convos, and 12th grade Purple Haze innuendoes... it's quite hard to write about yourself as yourself, when you are still in the midst of the tale you are trying to write. hmmm...
speaking of books i cannot write, here's a book i cannot finish: picked up because it had teh coolest design on the cover (if you read enough you are allowed to judge a book by its cover once in a while) its really strange: Love in a Dead Language by Lee Seigel (figures.) its based on some board game of the Kumma Sutra, Twister-like and just a mess of stuff. kinda funny, in a he he chuckle dirty kinda way. but essentialy not very clever.
uhm. in search of a wedding dress (i've decided to wear a lilac wreath) for phaigy and phil's affair, if you meet one give it my number....