Speaks for itself:
Look at the face! Just look at it!
Gawd I love these two best friends:
Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellen Play The Newlywed Game
“Twin Peaks” produced so many gems, but this is one of the best:
Bee-zar . . .
Another oldie but goodie:
Groucho Marx in “Duck Soup” (1933)
Best knock-knock joke ever . . .
I’m torn. I really need to decorate and get caught up around here, but I also want to just spend the day on the computer. I have so much to do. Holidays should not be an obligation, but they are.
This is my compromise with myself . . .
the peonies are beyond their deaths.
In here—on our continent of a bed—
we are busy showing each other pictures
of ourselves: mouth to rib, back to belly, palm
to hip. Here is the reciprocal breath, the sanctified
taking—my only chance
All day long I live in my head
and as the house bends toward twilight
you say, See here, you’ve got it all wrong.
Lie down. Get a load of our quiet profiles.
the tubers have turned inward,
away from the light.
In here—in our cathedral of a room—
we are busy ridding ourselves
of words, holding our faces
to the mirror. Carrying out
our best directive.
~ Tina Schumann
Music by The Gospel Whiskey Runners, “The Wound”
Even though I’m not a cat person, I think that I might have been a cat in another life. I mean, the laziness? the unwillingness to do anything anyone tells you? the haughty superiority? And top that off with an inability to go down a staircase in any kind of normal fashion? Yep, cat.
Friday afternoon. Rainy and unseasonably warm, 57 degrees.
There is no snow here. No cold. No flakes falling and collecting, amassing into unknown structures, waiting to be unburied with the sun’s warmth. I know that I should be happy that we don’t have a lot of cold and snow here as neither are good for my bones or my back, but I long for snow, wet flakes on my face, the chance to photograph the vast whiteness, the trees cloaked in inches of froth, the dog carefully stepping so as not to sink.
Snow would be nice, would be lovely and white and banking. Instead, we have rain and mud puddles and lethargy, so I will write about nothing and nothingness and nothings.
Odd memories out of nowhere:
List of minutiae:
Did you know?
And then there is this:
More later. Peace.
*All snow GIFs taken from a tumblr post; sorry, don’t have better source than that.
Music by The Smiths, “Asleep”
Strange Little Prophets
When is the smell of a blackberry tree
a harbinger of violent movement
rather than simply the recollection of
a childhood Sunday dress hem-dipped
in mud, handprinted with juice and seeds?
Hard to say. A mind, when playing tricks
is at its most sincere — at home raking
through the body’s history, repeating
the strange and nostalgic. The taste of
dirty copper, the imagined cockroach
in the corner, the sluggish slow of the clock
— doctors call these strange little prophets
warning signs of a seizure, synaptic misfires
looming like a song discordant, until the body
— an unplucked string — is finally strummed.
~ Barbara Perez
Jupiter, the most massive planet in our solar system — with dozens of moons and an enormous magnetic field — forms a kind of miniature solar system. Jupiter does resemble a star in composition, but it did not grow big enough to ignite. The planet’s swirling cloud stripes are punctuated by massive storms such as the Great Red Spot, which has raged for hundreds of years.
Jupiter’s appearance is a tapestry of beautiful colors and atmospheric features. Most visible clouds are composed of ammonia. Water vapor exists deep below and can sometimes be seen through clear spots in the clouds. The planet’s “stripes” are dark belts and light zones created by strong east-west winds in Jupiter’s upper atmosphere.
Caution: Old lady using foul language. Don’t read any more if you are easily offended.
This showed up on my tumblr dash. Where do people find these things?
Omigawd. This is the kind of old lady I’ll be. No doubt.
Music by The Pretty Reckless “Make Me Wanna Die”