The greatest gift is the gift of surprises

It's hot here. Blood warm, everywhere. I walked home in it yesterday, bathing in the air and basking in the sun. We're all a little angry at the sky, lately.

Bad day....fuck it.

Rough 24 hours, at the end of a period of taut hypersensitivity. I've been remote-it's true. From some of you more than others. Sorry about that.

I'm winding down though, and I'll try to locate those of you for whom I've gone all Flying Dutchman.

Caesarian

The streets were littered with faux corpses this afternoon. Jumbled piles of cloth and flesh that used to be people, up and around. Hobos, of course, and more transient grommets here for the summer and the fair. And middle-class folks too, in the downtown area. Napping in the sun and the verge, like you wouldn't see anywhere else. Much as I bemoan Eugene for its pedantic nonsense and awful statuary, it is nice to see tolerance for things that shouldn't have been verboten in the first place. Take a nap outside on your lunch, for god's sake. We'll all be better off.

Not the point, by the way. That's just an aside, an anecdote to get me into this (incidentally, as I'm all ten-dollar words again, check out the 'llectuals video on my other blog). I'm troubled. There, said it, I'll say it again. Right here in River City.

I'm always troubled (who isn't?) but this is different. Deep trouble, traumatic trouble. Traumatic double trouble-that's my dream, that's my nightmare. Snails and razors, and the rest of you cut so slow. I have several predicaments (and I'm going to be obsucure here, as this is meant to be revealing without being explanatory) but the big one's looming like a ship, or a bridge. Like I'm the bridge, but not the ship. And I know something about burning, and wreckage in wake.