last glass...dusty buckets...parched e-lips...sponge...drip...drop

2001-12-04 - 9:55 p.m.: chai


Oxford, MI: December 4, 2001: Many tiny airplanes today have sung a protest signing it in clouds demanding fingers for their wings and feet for tails... They want their bellies full of questions, not of cargo, and they'd like some hair to feel a summer breeze dance through. They want to feel grass on toes and learn to play guitar and wonder what it feels like to fly away.

...Continued on page Z-440.


(that was a yawn)

I'm so tired. My play went well, though, and it's going to be performed again (woohoo!) on Thursday by REAL actors in front of a REAL audience. We'll see how that goes. I went to a little production this morning... "Music, Theatre & Dance Responds to Aids" in... wouldn't you know... the theatre department. It was so unnervingly beautiful. I'm always a little taken aback by beauty... but it's especially striking when it's in people I know, and see every day. I can't believe the noises that can issue from the lips and throat of a human being. Such winsome music. Harsh, too. It's an ugly disease to begin with... but made so much uglier by the ignorance and hatefulness of people. "A Man in My Prime" was the toughest to take.

Other than that... not much new. I wanted to take the dog for a walk today, but I don't have a dog. I took a walk anyway. The weather is still quite warm... in the 50's... I wonder if it'll freeze all at once, blizzard style, or if this is a new kind of winter. I don't mind the mild temperatures... but I do like snowflakes.

I'm going to end, here, because I really have nothing of consequence to say.

Oh would you like to swing on a star...

Carry moon beams home in a jar...

And be better off than you are...

Or would you like to be a fish?

What's wrong with being a fish?