Divine (but where's the orange slice)

You can go your own way, right into whole lotta love, and the stakes - way down inside - seem grander. More (but then, quiz: what song brought them back down? Brin?)

Where you were. Staring at that girl's neck and upper back and thinking of a ... C'MON!!

"Guinness. No Guinness, but Murphy's? Keith's then. Keith's? Yeah, there's only one Guinness."


So I ate these cookies and became paranoid about the things that matter most and top of the list was this trip to Egypt. Just let me do that first, his consciousness begged. And - according to some - that got granted, or is about to, 'cause here we are.

With time to just relax and think. About how on the verge of a thirtieth year you are blessed with great abilities and horizons, and only the worries you throw before yourself. About how this upcoming trip needs to have the marrow sucked rigt out of her. About the magic of taking a stone from MP in August and bringing it to the Treasury for November.

It is to laugh. I write not again for a week, where we shall have gazed upon a new wonder and drunk (good or ill) to the next President of the United States of America. For there will be an answer.

Finally.

Don't die.

See you back in this corner before 2009. More planning to be done, more thinking. How glorious to just have nights like that/this.

reflections on the Holy Land

The real intent of this solitary pint, post-music. To record some thoughts on the eve of the journey to where we have not been. The land of Moses and of Rameses, of Petra and Jerusalem. Walk softly on the ground, for buried their are eons. Buried there run civilizations of ancient days and miraculous wonders and ...

Oh what one might say. The next time you sit down and read this you'll have been to Giza, the Siq, and the Dome of the Rock. The question that seems absurd yet legitimate, of surmounting importance because of its seeming obviousness is thus: will you be wiser simply by having been there?

I think yes, but do not know. I think surely yet could not know for certain. It is ever so. But it is the language in which to be thinking pre-trip, for that - after the wonder and photos and sand and relief have faded - that wisdom is what must be left. It is that advancement derived from travel that is addictive, not just the escapism. The principle of growth.

There are old emails from German train stations to jv that could be elevated. There are nights such as these in which the phoenician letters are free-flowing that, you think, could be drawn together to some coherent purpose. If you could see it.

Until then, the duty is simply one of recording, with the hope the words may sort themselves. A consummation devoutly to be wished.

And for this trip which was hatched with C. in mind and will now take place without her, bigger and louder and outdoors in old Jerusalem and through Rumm. Sometimes you need an hour after the infinite planning and thoughts, just to draw a line between past and future, because sometimes it is so hard.

A year at 1991 which seems a minute. Picchu. "I had a dream/it's not impossible.". How we could go on. And on.

Sociable. Hell ya. Obama!

(Interlude)

Dust on the Bottle

So, here we are again, you and me, on my own. Assuming it's 23h, an almost symmetrical 40 hours until takeoff. True, it is backward first (backwardation?) but it is the start that counts. 17 hours from the new world to the holy land seems to easy anyhow.

So much to do before then. Remember? The (in)genius decision to move - now reaping that whirlwind - IOL's annoyance at SNSMR and that hassle (the irony of acronyms if you struggle to recall), the mill tour today (find that man a present in Egypt), Aquilo, 41 in fines at the library, the ripped laundry basket, Graves and his enjoyment tonight and 25 years (years!) of playing together, that beige hat dancer, and the soft rain (oh what rain tonight, ya beauty) and the cover at the lower deck and closed at O'Carroll's and the recent kick-out at the OT so the Split Crow.

The fuckin' Split Crow. Where once upon a time you were banned for life for stealing a sign, the remnants of which now lie above your head. Where you first saw the Wingman/Gongshow shirts in 2003, where the threesome was debated over kisses, Keiths birthday with Feroz and the molester, the fucking shark, and how many St.Pat's? In short, a good place to be thinking aloud for posterity.

That by way of prelude tonight. Actual/intended post above/next. (And so only, strangely, suspenseful to me, since I'm likely the only one to read these words a-first)

I don't think so

Not a good idea.

Remember Cape Split.

Yeah.

May 8 (or doucement mais surement)

The first of the 2009 purchases, I do believe, and at a fair price and ideal time. That Chelsea match is a ways off, but hopefully you'll find yourself on that plane and then to Emirates. Will you look back on this date, when you do, blogging while walking home, the cursed renewable paper still undone (unstarted, frankly). The pedways slightly chilly, the lingering days before the move... Will there be... Ah, but there are so many questions. Best to simply wait it out, slowly but surely, or as we say in french... It's funny - and wonderful - how just thinking about something over a stretch of time can make it real.

Everybody let's you down

But, sings sweet Norma, they'll all come around.

Ah, the seahorse tavern. Loves you..

Still the horsepower highlight - (Canadian Club) DAMN RIGHT you're father drank it.

Remember. That is always the thing with these wireless blackberry posts. The Hum Bradley effect. The H20 engraved in the table. The Hawkers. The Blue Cheese levee. The 1/2 argyle sweater. Change your fucking mind. The Morash glass of white wine. Especially that.

Surprise, surprise, surprise.

In a word, more.

In another word, londontown.

Yeah.

So close to my knees

Another Thursday. (And, later)Another headache, another heart-break, I'm so much older, etc.

Rum and Coke Tuesday and Thursday this week, the age old Captain and the rest. 'Tis undeniable, and good. The falling days to mark the year in this apartment, two weeks tonight in which you will be on the plane(s) to the Holy Land. Desirous of everything at the same time, as the Kerouac print silently screams.

Yes. The tier 1 visa investigated, and that seems all that's needed for the job front until the road. The April birthday and the May 9 emirates fixture solid bookends to the necessary. Although I wonder slightly about the role of St. Patrick, particularly if SE Asia is postponed. You may look into the aquisition of Visas at Canada House, Trafalgar.

In any case, the twilight may be upon us. We trust that the upcoming trip will be as smooth and seamlessly dominant as ever. This has the potential to be grander even than the Incas. Full moon on the Nile, baby. What more do you want?

The red light is flashing. More later. Forest for the trees. How did the ground get so close to my knees?

The Still Center of the Turning World

Stuperendous, and splendour. The abode of the gods, Rumm of the Pillars which has no equals. Which stumped TEL as a processional way greater than the imagination.

How fitting for a Friday. And how fitfully the countdown is on. March 27 has to be the day. Consider it selected... "The very grandeur was a liberation"

Stransky has arrived in Paris, mission accepted. Oh world. See you in Tel Aviv in 3 short weeks, babe.

Rogue's

Rope ladder number 3 - what destination?

Some undreamed of land? Perhaps. But AI is right tonight in his view that sooner rather than later you need to set the end date in mind. You try and demure to the upcoming trip, and yet know what the road's answer will be. (Sooner). How weird was it to see the young one today in picking up the article, alas. I wonder about the 21. Hopefully the chance at Louis, and also? Everything is possible, goes the translation. Repeat the slogan of the year, I can't wait to see what happens next..

Anymore

Madison West, Holiday Inn. Selects.

12:44am. Or, 11 hours and 16 minutes until kickoff in Green Bay for the (meat) Packers at Lambeau. Unfortunate Badgers loss earlier this night. The Hepburn, some solace. And the fact that, but for the shirt, we care not much, in the end, for that result. Obama, more critical. The Chicago guy in the cab. The random yellings in this background. The pin worn proudly, even in a state we worry not about. It must be so. Despite the fact that the country is not like the city, as our man said, it is very much not like a city like Chicago... But, hopefully, it will be enough. "That's the way things are."

So many people. So much, apparent, sadness at the pureness of this university town (and yes those commas were intentional).

No escape. Try and put a downpayment on...

Some of the legitimate conversation is permeating through. And the relentless opposition to any idea of a coming recession seems embedded in this lovely University and Capital town.

I started this post out with a simple thought - that I would record the slight buzz from the Vodka/Watermelon Orpheum special, and the new line of the beer - oh, wait a second, I forgot to say that - "In a stunning turn of events, a fill-in fighter TKOs the heavily hyped Kimbo Slice in a flash."

Where was I? Oh yes, the slogan: "Point Special Beer - It's not just for breakfast anymore!"

Conversation behind you. Knowing that there is nothing you can add, but yet that -

"And then be silent." Yes, that's old and fine and true and fair. 10h58 to kickoff at Lambeau. In this world of dreams...