Modernism's fascination with marginality.
Now you know you're in deep (mmm, just mis-typed deep as depp, You read between the subconscious lines) to the whole grad school miasmic mix of words when you read such a phrase and keep a straight and jargon-enhanced face.
Listen. Listen but good.
Run and do not walk to your grocery store or pharmacy or, if You are lucky and in the Shiney Apple, a freakin' true newstand, and pick up The Globe to see the next printish incarnation of Pre-Faint Hill, in a state of Gripping the Podium.
All aflutter with wonder if they've attached my image with a tale most sordid, I have my own conspiracy theory I cannot put on the web as I'm sure They will make my life more complicated.
Off to go practice out some more graduistic phrases aloud, maybe with some politico hand gestures to stun and such.

Such Love.

Much to my complete and utter astonish-freakin-ment the would-be musicians at the Church of the Evangelical Mindfuck next door are becoming - sit down - competent. Sundays can still mean a moaning vocalist and a drummer that needs some solid trepanning but some other nights competence sings through the church's cinder blocks.
Completely and utterly minding my own business, de rigeur in this Perfect landscape painting, I went to Jon's Joint, Salon for the Changes of Hair this week. Always an educational experience (allright, here I really must interject that Tolerance Hour is like so over and now my thoughts are going to lead me to anger management sessions and/or community service as an aftermath so on go the noise-reducing headphones), there I met a bona fide Middling City SWAT Team (do not confuse with Target Team, though their names are oso confusingly sim) Member, a man who I made tell me every tiny detail of using his battering ram. How much does it weigh? How long? Filled with? Two handles? One person device? etc. Answers: 80 lbs., 5 feet, concrete, yes, yes.
Enjoyed his stories of using said device. And then had to regale him with one of this lifetime's highlights, the FBI shooting range and such Perfect accuracy that the FBI men asked if Yours Truly had ever ever considered a career with the org. So the battering ram man is out of commission as his neck is all battering rammed.
Jon made my hair very different, very different indeed. Some say it's beautiful, some say it is shocking. Anyhoo, it is complex and I did say as he was painting my head You know, Jon, I do have a few more conservative clients. I think he heard You know, Jon, I do have a real love for the colour red, paint away.
Yesterday I encountered a shopping cart engineer whilst exiting a store. A tall gangly, glasses-wearing man with a beard and glasses, wearing a hat. From his colouring I could tell he is a natural redhead and he spotted me, whipped off his hat and said Some people are wanna-be's - I'm the real thing. I surprised him by asking What do you think, too radical. He thought not. I've been polling strangers who express an interest in my head. It is not only heart-warming, I think, but interesting to boot and I suddenly realize as Beth Dearest reads this she is, undoubtedly, slowly shaking her head and now I think how JW,Esq. is doing quite the opposite, a more vertical movement.
It's now time for me to sing along with Nico before I make my way out the door once mo.

Mo Love.

Very ensconced in music and libraries and now shouting !basta! to the bridged-over heavens of Pittsburgh, Reese, who I met and instantly bonded with over my gift to him of a1917 class tie from Cornell duringst my famed Estate Sale as I moved from my rented Victorian to my short stint as Ghetto Ghirl (and he had a busted jaw, wired tight), is heading to NZ. New Zealand to you non-vino heads. Joined his newsgroup and the correspondences I expect to roll in shortly, probably tapering off as it so often happens once one is ensconced then there. Drove like mad to various Middling City emporiums and ginmills to insert my Perfect initials onto football pools far and wide and will be waiting waiting to hear the glad tidings. Pools are all random so in choosing willingly I did so based on my fav colour - green. That equals that one team. From PA, which brings Me back to musings on Reese, broke free from PA for NZ. Class is like so underway and got the post posted and realized once I cut through the various hazes and such and flowerations that the readings were actually not so bad. But please, do not quote me on that. Or else. The song that one of my favoured humans was married to in Vegas is now playing on my iTunes and forever this song will make me think of that scenario, a chapel in Vegas, the non-screech of a needle dragged across vinyl, for shame, the onion-rich breath of a preacher, the click of a few bursted frames of film by the resident photographer, the ghost of journalistic me working on my story a few years ago, witnessing several marriages, still emotional despite the plastic, the dust, the absentia, the desert calling beyond the Strip, but a click and whirr and purr of the voice of Kristin Hersh singing Beestung and You know who You are there is no need to name. To flame. To shame. To lame. To aim.
Godammit, words are so fucking fun and satisfying.

Satisfying, fun, fucking Love.