tempest.in.coffeepress

remember to write four.

i'm glad to be in 2004, it's an auspicious number. No, not lucky, it's just more pleasing to write than '2003'. that freshness also inspires movement & change.

an intimate notes that i reveal little of emotional import in this blog. i talk only of facts & links, not of my life. i don't reveal my inner self despite the fact that this blog is sort of all about doing that...

it's an excellent point. i'm afraid, i think, that opening the ark will bring forth the pure spirit whose reality is too much for the onlooker to bear. your faces will dissolve, your eyeballs will boil in their sockets, in the face of the whirlwind of rage and misery bottled inside.

i am the ark that - barely - contains it; unlike the ark of the covenant, i am flesh and cannot bear it. drugs strengthen my flesh; minimising exposure, i willingly place myself in my own sacred court. only the chosen few can pass the many gates to enter my presence.

this is a self-aggrandising metaphor. obviously, the shkina does not dwell inside me en senso biblico. i am not kidding about melting your faces, though. this blog isn't entitled homicidal lesbian terrorist for nothing: my skull and my rib cage are the double-boiler and i am a danger to self and others when i move from simmer to boil.

i wish to speak more plainly. i will try. i don't want to reduce to mindless rants. sometimes it feels like am a mountain-bike with the middle 12 gears broken, leaving me with only speed 1 and then 14-18: snail it or kill people.

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I am currently listening to: everything i have on .mp3, randomised & cluttered
I am currently reading: Russell Howard S 1980: Indian New England Before the Mayflower; Hanover: University Press of New England