...because I've gone beyond the point of 'ridiculous'. Thanks, Dan: the Viceroy of Puntown.
So much in the works - I'm addicted to this momentum; any time I feel the slightest eddy, something inside rises up violently against it. But there haven't been many. It's all plans and machinations and connections and the occasional appearence of my coyote, blinking yellowly and slyly at me. I wonder if she knows something I don't.
And lately, I dream only of skin and breath, like I'm pressing a glass to the wall between myself and a particularly saucy fantasy. I like what I hear.
The bittersweet note - the gradually advancing absence of the dear one who struck this flint in the first place. I owe you so much for putting me on this roll, and you're too dear to lose to a slow, inexorable fade; please don't go away.
Anyway, my desk and my heart are full - there's always a correlation there, for me - and I'm looking forward to more art, some salsa, a shoot on Saturday with the incomparable Lex Halaby, and having a murder of folks over for some sweet, sweet lovin'.
Does the term "tasting flight" embarass everybody else as much as it embarasses me? I mean, honestly. "I'm going to Silverlake Wine to...do a tasting flight?" Ick. So, no. This is better: "I'm going to Silverlake Wine to get my snob on." Aww, yeah.