This is it, shoulders walking strong with the rest of it, eyes looking at ideas of art swirling inside after seeing a masterwork again and again and now the haze of music that matches the outdoors and the interior perfect and also the mood collective at least among people that matter that are personal that wanted change but did not get change. And today, a question that surprised, about now an hour ago, from someone suggesting big changes and that idea hovers like the masterwork, in the dark, the messenger.
Shot last night Dem big winners, big surprises some. Walked with someone over to the bar to merrily discover that all was pro free-o, what with all the work accomplished, the lit drops, the canvassing, the stumping, and more. The spotlit crowd watching results and projections and then people up on stage until their attentions drifted back to the television set next to the stage. Big winners, big surprises. Stood on stage alongside Brian Higgins, a new congressperson, as he thanked everyone and sent out mad props to his forefathers, etc. Talked to pocket-squared Byron Brown, got a hard hug from Sam Hoyt. Got earfuls of gossip and news from various Middling City others.
Back to Mazzy Star, the stars and art and the like.

Like Love.

Yes, I am farting about with my template and that is why there are pixels askew.
File under How Democrats and Republicans Are So Like Cats and Dogs.
Takes place this Middling City morn, gray sky blazing and politics hovering in the air like tragedy or holiday anxiety.
Yours Truly: Hey Chuck (bowtied man who owns photo lab whose rent I pay, essentially), did you go out and vote already. But, wait, I do not want you to vote today, Chuck. (Chuck is a well-known Rep, a conservative one to boot, a lover of the prez, in the political sense as he's also an avowed hetero).
Chuck: Hey, Nance, remember to go out and vote tomorrow.
cue chortles.
As I just told Deb, I am preparing a dinner of flounder or sole, in honour of all the floundering souls out there who cannot get the lead (not Led, not today anyhoo) out and vote. My beloved sister is one of the lax. Oh, gravlax is another good choice for an entree today - in honour of those who are gravely lax in their inalienable right to freakin' vote.

Entree to Love.

Tenterhooks.
Collectively, good or bad/evil/anti-choice/pro-war, we are on tenterhooks - the old-school means of stretching fabric to its limit to work upon it.
Did you think these hooks were for meat, the meat of your anticipatory flesh.
The art world appropriated the def of the hook and it's what said world calls an 'L' bracket sometimes. The little L's that bend and cause one to smash one's finger(s) with hammer whilst installing artwork.
Today is Election Day's Eve and this is, historically, the one to make the difference we are ever collectively bantering about like earnest grad students. Difference keeps us apart, hopeful, suspicious.
If You have your shit together, have registered, know where in hell your polling place is, have the inclination, make the time and listen to the wise recorded words of Caroline Kennedy, professional orphan, that her pops nearly lost his prez election by 1% of a vote in each state (read differencemaking) then get the fuck out and greet the canvassers, the ladies with the boxes of doughnuts, pull the lever and impassively, prosportlike, move, tomorrow.

Moving Love.

ps: happy election day's eve with my whole dem heart pumping the B+

Had good discussion this week with X, AcademeGuru, regarding this my most favoured holiday. He gets this, always got this, about me. Halloween is adopting another persona, getting caramel stuck in one's teeth, trying to be terrified to get the ol' adrenal juices flowing, thinking of the dead and the morbid and the dying smell of rotting plants, Witkin photos that are elegant death. Halloween is not and never will be adorable Hallmark crap, cute and adorable smiling pumpkins. No, Halloween (and please toggle over to archive from last year's All Hallow's Eve) is the aforementioned as well as prankishness and smashing of jack-o-lanterns when it's proper to do so = under cover of darkness, in the middle of public streets and when the day/night is done. It is sad, but it must be done. It dispels the ghosts and after Halloween there is nothing sadder than a jack-o-lantern forlornly smirking as it implodes. Memory: Mr. Hung (whose handy diagram of the extro/into-vert dialectic I've hung alongside my desk) scooping 2-inch white fuzzy mold out of my jack-o-lantern last year, afraid I might be overly saddened that it had done its job and was sitting on a radiator festering. Fercrissakes, get that thing into the trashroom pronto, I suggested.
Be bad, be good, be everything in between.

Love, Pronto.

ps: My Annual Conceptual H'Ween Costume?
This year I am, I so am, Condoleeza Rice. Put that in yer corncob pipe and be terrified.