Crackers prevented most of Blogger users to post as they jiggled into our secret spaces like elusive spores of anthrax.
And speaking of crackers I'm still amazed by the Pope saying that war must not be waged on God's behalf.
He obviously has dementia and church history has evaporated from his mind.
God cannot, should not, be named as your wartime m.o., keep that in mind.
God, however, was my writing co-pilot again and I thank God for that.
2 feet of snow + 2 computers + 1 snow-moated mind = a whole lot of work completed.
And now time to venture out into the blanketed middling city to enjoy some cocktails. As it snowed so hardily there was no Goo Goo Dolls show and that's a sad thing.
I'm going to stop by the alterna-music ginmill to see if The Jacklords are made of more titanium stuff and will forge on with their engagement.
Holiday thoughts:
The Eve was good, headed to family event after an Oban fix. My aunt who I haven't seen in a while was speaking in sound poem style coming in a rhythm until she could grab the next batch. It reminded me of an Allen Ginsburg's reading I saw
BOMB we bomb them we BOMB you, you BOMB them... something to that effect.
Faced self-induced word loss the next morn after I organized a caravan out to the exurbs for Marty's annual Norman Rock&Roll-Well (I have to tell him I constructed this term for his fete) party. That meant a 6AM grappling for sugar plum fairy sleep.
Next day, no snow. No skiing, just roast beef with a bunch of artists and then a pathetic movie starring a certain actor accused of being gay all the time, and then points beyond.
The Jesus & Mary Chain's Stoned & Dethroned sounds still solid right now.
Note to self: buy the new Hope Sandoval. Sometimes Always jogged that.
Photojournalistic memory: elusive Reid Bros. under dimmest of light.