Bays and harbors.

I awoke with a start, panicked, thinking "I must organize these coastal defenses!" What the hell was I dreaming about? Maybe I'm overdue a trip to the Gulf coast. I dig the coastal areas of the state. So unlike the rest of this place. This place, unlike. I'm not an American. I'm not a Mississippian. I'm just a guy on a landmass.

I saw more of this country, last year, during my tour and brush with mild (very mild) fame. What I most enjoyed was the break with the conventions that are so unnecessary and so held dear here. I liked being in places where no one had any history.

Seeking purchase.

I've started spending more time outside than in. Dig this patio office. Ditched the cell phone. Tough for about a week, but it's nice to remember that I can still do as fine without as I did before. So what do I do out here?

Well....

Ah, well, hi!

Thought for the briefest of half seconds (ugh) about changing the layout. No way man.

 So. Mas, por favor indeed. Autocorrect made a hash of that sentence. This was begun when autocorrect was but a glint in someone's something. It was really a compilation when I started, a collection of old, now really old MySpace blog postings. A great deal happened from MySpace to this blog, and a much greater deal from the beginning of this blog to now, but I'll put current me up against either of those me's any day. Or any other iteration of me's. My fighting trim has never been so trim.

 (And aren't I trim? And trig?)

For Ray and his man-crush

Shimmering, silver-shot silk, stolen in time gone, not found. She walks, declaims, burdened in wool, she is inside, not out, not belonging. My focus is not focus, my me is mine. I am inside, not out, not belonging. Outside is not of me, I will remain in me. NO. NO. NO.

Garaja.

Ever stopped someone for driving on the wrong side of the highway and had them pull a gun on you? It sucks. For them. I didn't have to shoot him though. Probably should have. He dropped his unloaded weapon almost before my weapon cleared the holster. Good times, my friend.

Is no computer, chilluns.

The one invention of the 20th century (somewhat arguable, some Frenchman made one in the 1760's,) that has made more far-reaching changes in us as a society is the automobile. It has made us terribly impatient. We have to have everything now, you dig. I hate the automobile and we'd be better off without it. We'd be nicer, completely independent of oil (before the auto, oil was considered a useless toy; well not completely independent, we need it for plastic,) and I really think we'd have richer lives. Take it slow. Take it light. I hate working wrecks.

Parabellum.

"Load with ball. Go from head to head. None will be left FOR dead. All shall be left AS dead."
Is "The Postman" prophetic? Why did I just get a flash of myself with hoary head, scarred face, ragged uniform and tarnished badge on horseback addressing troops amidst bodies? Perhaps a hackneyed story is forming in me head? I must be spending too much time around cannons. I might try and contact that lit agent I read about in the paper last week. Maybe I can get that backlog of stuff I've got published for a little extra cash? Not much chance, but I'm no Emily Dickinson, hoarding things, hoping they'll never see the light of day. Of course, I'm NO EMILY DICKINSON, but who the hell knows.