boolar

awwlright then, jackie, let’s get right down to it…

i’ve always said (or at least for some time now i’ve said) that i’d rather get screwed than screw somebody over.

i guess it was bound to happen sometime, then. after chasing a carrot around in circles for a couple of weeks, and performing all kinds of tricks in pursuit of it, the carrot was suddenly, and without warning, removed completely from the picture. they decided not to sell. to us at least. cause we still have to get out end of july. What?? What!!!

i had been so nervous that i exploded into an angry mess but only for a minute until i became really really sad, a state that held me for a few weeks, i think. and now i’m over it. this universe has always provided so very much for me. why should i whine like a spoiled little child? i mean, i enjoy the best of everything. so i don’t know where i’m going to live, or if i’m going to be here when my tomatoes ripen. so? as if i won’t be able to work it out.

jaybee has landed, bee-ront is playing the piano like a madman again (himself also went through a depression over this whole shelter business and refused to play a note for what seemed like weeks), the portland weather doesn’t get any better than this, i have a new microphone to try out (thanks to pagan and metric) and the farmer’s market is filling up with my favorites. let’s do this.

i haven’t had much web presence the past few weeks… did you notice?

boolar has been growing up.  we’ll be back soon to tell you all about it.  hopefully, you’ll be able to congratulate us on buying our first home.  cross fingers.

it’s scary business.  My tomago has been, not butterflies, but buffalos stampeding for a fortnight.   i hope that portland likes us well enough to keep us around at least another couple of years…

the breeden half of susurrus station arrives in about 58 hours from now.

i’m frightened.  not of the breeden, of signing contracts.

Whey Cup.

let’s just say I was tired. Tired like sleepy and tired like dead dog bones barking and tired like as existentially exhausted as my friend (and yours) Sisyphus. Or Albert Camus. Or Nick Drake. Tired of this and tired of that but I can highly and without hesitation recommend as an exercise to anybody anywhere singing (screaming, speaking, whispering, even) the words “wake up” repeatedly. It’s as good as forcing yourself to belly laugh for five minutes, which I’m sure you’ve all tried already.