Well I suppose it's time to clear the bottle of scotch off the desk for (heraldic blasts from 1,000 angels from up on HIGH) the Shiny Mag Pieces are like so done.
Praise God, Praise Patti Smith, Praise Dave Matthews, Praise Green Tea, Praise Peeps.
NO!!!
Do not Praise those peeps which absolutely freak me out. Who eats these?
What are they? Sheep, lambs, chickens? Do not eat of their glowinthedark yellow and pink confectionary selves.
It's Easter, Holy Shit. I told Lead Boy Colleague that I think the last time I left my computer it was Christmas or thereabouts.
I am free.
Oh, I want to share with you a tale of my famed procrastinational skills.
While clearing my head of the mathematical problem that is a 3K piece I was caught by beau in this position, visualize hard:
I was singing a Meatloaf classic hit at the top of my everything, standing in front of the refrigerator, door open and my legs and arms spread in a classic rock gesture.
Time to regain my photographic composure. Writing leads to insanity. Writers are kooks. Photographers, well-balanced, and funny to boot.
Again, don't eat those fucking PEEPS.
Love.

So April 13th, Samuel Beckett's birth date, is EPINW's one year anniversary. And I know that you'll ink that onto your calendar and such and buy me a present to thank me for all the good times and erudition.
Favorites: green, shoes, Me & Ro jewelry (spec. their 18K gold rings), Oban .
I'm planning a special bloggerific party that day and there will be festive links for your joy.

Speaking of April 13th (about the time that Cobain blew his smart head off) someone is publishing a book of his diaries and other muck and I'm going to find this person and see if they want to use my haunting images of Kurt at one of his ultimate gigs.

We are all rock stars in our own special ways. Life is better when you realize this and dress accordingly.
Love.

The seminar with the classical music listening and report writing youths went swimmingly and I kept it clean, so to speak. I realized that these teens today think that all adults are in cahoots as they looked at me and queried How long is this report supposta be, narrowing their dewy eyes into disbelief when I responded I have no (censored) idea.

Found myself at some point this weekend, Saturday specifically, at 1AM seated at thigh level of an imported stripper/nouvelle burlesque mama - jetted into Middling City for entertainment purposes only.
She took almost it all off, down to thong. But she started out with a slew of fabric on her small frame and famed 23-inch waistline. Off came the hoop skirt. Off came the fuck ME pumps. Off came the fishnet stockings. Off came the big granny undies. Off came the corset. Off came the bra (under a netty robe). And then she scampered away.
Me and a girlie pal gave an impromptu report between the two of us. We felt that a little boob flash would have been okay. She had stretch marks on her butt (vertical) and we wondered how and/or why. My pal claims that she saw cellulite but I think it was the reflection of the disco ball on the wood dance floor and then that reflected up onto the burlesque and luminous self.

Following shooting a grain elevator in toxic Niagara Falls, NY on Sunday went on a short hike on a small island located not too far from Middling City. Realizing I was near a cemetery where two people I know are in repose I drove me and travel companion there. I reported how I had nearly broken my neck at this site last winter whilst hopping the cemetery gate, and then I pointed dramatically to the section which was leaning ominously as if it had just tossed off another hopper.
It was quickly pointed out to me that there was actually a small section of gate that was truly a gate - voilà.
I tidied up the grass around the friend headstones. Their shared wintertime wreath was on a stand lying on the ground and I stood it up and pressed the tripod legs into the burial ground.
Then we wandered through the very small cemetery and I fixed things: I put a pot back together, I put lots of silk flowers back in vases and I repaired a windchime whose ceramic humming bird fell to sogginess.
The Academy Awards were playing on tv sets throughout the land last night and I could not have given one tiny flying phlegm. But today the fashion reports are inescapable and I'm so sad for Gwyneth .