Sleep, a waste of time.

What a marathon last few 24 hours. I can't even begin. To tell you.
Money-making, people-schmoozing, fun-ingesting = my perfect perfect world.
REM Perfect Circle kind of night, back in the work/live space and it's now programmed into the cd player to play meaningfully, consecutively, ten times.

Heaven assume, shoulders high in the room.
Try to win and suit your needs, speak out sometimes, try to win.

I'll never forget the time for the first time those words hit my awaiting mind. I was typing on a portable typewriter in spring in the middle of Japan. I was writing poetry and I was alone with the music of another and then Perfect Circle.
There was nothing like Perfect Circle in Japan, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine hitting the face while walking down an ancient and curving quiet street.
Japan in Buffalo and vandals: to halt a soft memory train, today I took my freelance gig people to the Japanese Gardens in Buffalo and was sad to see that vandals destroyed expensive and spirit-housing items. Why are people imperfect.

This night is full of warm breezes.
This weekend is full of delicious rockstar moments.

Some great new Nancy helpful hints to print out and scotch tape to your bathroom wall over the sink, atop your dashboard, or on your fridge. Or in it, if you prefer.
1. When and if you fly Vanguard, BYOBB (bring your own barf bag). They fly small planes where other airlines might go bigger. In cloudy weather the small planes bump up and down. Up and down. When your stomach rises and falls it might need a respite from working on (think waitresses who crassly asks Are you still workin' on that? but perhaps in this case she's floating like those people in rafts in volcanoes upon your stomach acid asking that question to your stomach) things and you find yourself reaching into the pouch in front of you and cheapskates!!! No barf bags. So you hightail it down the aisle, airplane pitching, to you know where.
2. When making a jack-o-lantern be careful how you hold a small serated knife. All.

Returning from a foray into the night world that is my new year. Met people out for frivolity, cake, and the other party thing = cocktails. At one point I proposed a toast, to John Lennon. A chocolate chip-encrusted cake appeared with some candles and the requisite song. As the evening wound down a band from Seattle was setting up in the back room of the bar where we were hanging out. They were a three-piece. It appeared as if they were anticipating rocking out into every square inch of a stadium and we left before they were close to being finished setting up the drum kit, atop an imported carpet. For this gig the bubble hockey game was precariously lifted up into a booth in front of the television. I anticipated a slip, a knocking into the t.v., and a small popping/explosion complete with sparks. No. Just a sad bubble hockey game perched in a booth. And three boys from Seattle setting up carefully, ploddingly, langorously, as we all slipped away into the night.
It is the perfect anniversary of me.
Happy me to you.

what is up with blogger the past few days? I was thinking perhaps there was a block against any posting whose theme is anthrax.

Today is John Lennon's birthday, he would have been 61. Yoko made a statement, at the time of the twentieth anniversary of his death last December, that she prefers to remember his birth and not the yang. I always wished that my birthdate was his, but my mother swished me into the world tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow is my happiest day, the day I became me to the world, in the world. It's like one's own personal Mardi Gras, a chance to truly bust loose and it's all OKAY.

bacteria = bad.
Today I kept wanting to hear more about the anthrax scare (no, make that 1 death, 1 scare) in Florida. Enough already with the focus on the new declaration and formation of the snazzy new Inpatient Security led by the former PA governor, no, Incountry Security, no, well, whatever the hell it's called, I wanted to hear more about journalists inhaling gravely bad things. Doctors or clinicians put q-tips in your nose and then see that you have evil spores lingering in there and then you are Doomed. After online research and NYTimes perusing I've learned one thing: if it's your time to go, you go. Maybe antibiotics will help you, maybe not. (Sad: people selling, and buying, sixty-year-old gas masks) With some of these viruses and bacteria your muscles relax to the point of not just retiring but careening down a sunny highway in a gigantic recreational vehicle with a brick under the brake - if you catch my news-drenched drift. Peace. Say it Loud.
homework assignment to get your mind off anthrax (for me and you) go buy new music for not only will your mind delight in wrapping around a new thing but our president will personally slap you real hard on the back for boosting our economy.

Accidentally just purchased six cd's, including Live Phish cd featuring my photographs. There are only 4 photos on accompanying paperwork in case and they're all by your fav Nancy - one for each member. The packaging is extraordinary, usual paper foldaround enclosing a nylon 3-cd & paperwork container that you must unfold, unfold, and unfold and VOI-fuckin'-LA. Happy. Excellent purchases:
1. Tori's new cd (more literate Tori stories); 2. Live Evil by Miles Davis (heard a drum & bass track yesterday and had to have this immediately); 3. PowerPuff Girls soundtrack (blips, bloops, etc.); 4. Aforementioned Phish; 5. Oysterhead (side Phish project feat. Trey Anastasio, Les Claypool, & Stewart Copeland); and 6. Say it Loud!: Black Music in America (with 20 super-hitz from Louis Armstrong to Grand Master Flash).