Damn it(s),  got so/too much going on in my head at times—>  Concurrently–>
It’s vivid in there.   So imagine Jane’s Addiction and Mike Ditka co-hosting a soul food cooking show with a Mediterranean bent       +   some visuals.    Thoughts and memories can be shaken up like a snow-globe. Yesterday’s mistakes heckle today’s progress.   There’s a tidge of leftover jargon floating about.  And sounds, like every middle-school band all playing at the same time in the same gym while a trapeze act corresponds with the square root of G in the rafters.  You know what I mean?         Maybe no not.

It doesn’t matter too much, because at other times it’s crystal silent clear inside.  Like not yet formed mist.

I still make mix tapes. The mixes don’t come/go as often anymore and have crossed over into digital format (as these things do) but I still make them. I get overly excited for the Olympic torch and anagrams. Last year you could find me listening to Sklarbro Coutry, now I listen to Maron. There’s a lot of artisan pizza pie out there, but I just want Pizza Pipeline. I can go week long stretches just listening to country. I glanced through a People magazine yesterday. I choose the worst line at the border. Some days I don’t feel like playing. I dig sarsaparilla and old matchbooks from places I’ve never been. I’ve tried but never quite got The Kids in the Hall. Some times I lose my fo-cus, sometimes I’m superfocused. I miss The Far Side and the Sonics. I’ve got tee shirts and pictures I can’t get rid of.
I have been the last to know. I started reading Papillon, but never finished it.

Russell Wilson.

Life is so ugly/beautiful.  Pearl Jam & basketball taught us that.

The other day Tayen was trying to describe an activity involving a Frisbee and Dreams. I  could decipher it occurred at her pre-school, but with a three year old it can be tough to pin down “exactly” what’s “real” “imagined” or “consumed.”  I  did gather at least in this description the Frisbee was playing the part of stick.

Tayen:   “We passed around the Frisbee and said what we all wanted to be.”
Me:        “Oh, you mean like a talking circle?”
Tayen:    “Sure.”
Me:         “What did Victoria say?”
Tayen:    “She wanted to be a princess, they all wanted to be princesses.”
Me:         “What did you say?”
Tayen:    “I want to be a train driver.”

I was delighted. Talking circles, real or imagined can be healthy.  Fact, I’m facilitating one in my head right now.  Certain personalities crave the space and authority the stick can bring to the circle.  I also had to smile because deep down inside I think I want to be a train driver too.  Not the Amtrak variety or the kind at the mall during Christmas, but a steam locomotive engineer barreling up the foggy pass, trying to get em’ home, with quick wit and seasoned eyes that can see around the corner before anyone else.