untittlated

brilig won’t blog.

i cannot call it that. it’s worse than a double negative to my ear. or ly-less marketing.

but the puter lost my first offline babble this eve, which is now morn, & unacceptably so.

i want things now.

i keep thinking that and it keeps remaining to be so.

but only for tonight.

tomorrow will be different, it always is in the light. & in Alaska?

so, this is a webfuckinglog or my electronic smear campaign (against everything, of course)

Even Kittens!

i tried The Clash vinyls. am i too picky? or have bad taste in music? probably. should it shame me?

you may rely on it.

The following was taken this Autumn 2006 in Portlandia. I had no recent/new of Kenosis. (despite my giant upload.)

from my balcony:

Skyline from the end of Portlandia’s Spring 2006.

Here are the other experimental variations.

(Oo, oo! here they are with Picasa.)

Of course, they’re all for sale. and copywritten. and applicable to whatever ludicrous legalities or anti-anarchistic regulations that need to be established herewith, so you don’t fuck me ova.

we’re all looking for an angle.

mine’s Kitten Juice.

and a Titty Kitty.

you’ll see.

i sense another night of insomnia.

without the webbernet. one more night.

and tomorrow, hockey.

that glorious sport of grace & violent intensity.

the tragically hip have a new album. i have not had the opportunity to hear it, of course. Save a song they opened the Season’s first Hockey Night in Canada. About a goalie. i was spazzin too pay much attention.

there will be a housewarming party soon. i pulled off social well today, so i’m invited.

‘nother thing i want now.

Is Mr. Brock our generation’s Morrissey? ugh.

this ends, horny, hungry, & restless.

the final day of November.

A train bellows its way near. This late it’s bound to be freight. Going somewhere with its noise through the middle of the night. Maybe packed up with scrap metal. Make a new city out of old trash. {“Blanketin opinions I’ll probably regret soon.”}

Couldn’t we get it better?

Shouldn’t we have that, too?

& i want it NOWWW.

please

and thank you.

No one has bumped against my door tonight with offers of immorality. Now the bars have closed and it’s that quiet time i hate so much between last call and 04:30. When there is no point at all.

No one will drunkenly stumble by now. it’s me and the music. the cat even sleeps when i’m not demanding. it’s chilly in this draft like strangers.

I was wrong. It’s Amtrak pulling up in the Cascades’ green & brown cars.

I am not one of those riders. I do not know the cabins confined at night by light or the fatigued wonder of the station. Blurrily looking for a familiar something, maybe resigned instead to further hours of travel before what’s known is near. I cannot touch those feelings tonight, this morning. I don’t know outside from my music, my meager words, my stomach complaints. I have no suitcase filled with anything. I have my own water pressure & shampoo.

but i wish i was drunk.

vaguely and without the intention of getting so. yes, there’s a Beck’s Dark, a pilsner, and boxed Chardonnay. oh, and Crème De Menthe. worse than my peppermint schnapps debacle last year.