Well, Can It?

Last night, after a deluge, I met with some aliens. Astounded that they had wicker chairs in the kitchen of their spacecraft. Got a nice tour, and then asked them some very important questions. The only one I can remember is, "can art save the world??" The answer: "No."

In the In-Between

In trying to walk out the door this morning, I found myself pressed against the screen. The back door had swung closed, and my hand repeatedly pushed the screen-door latch, but kept absently missing. It took my brain a little while to figure out what was going on, and in that time I remained a malfunctioning robot, pushing at the wrong spot again and again. Later, I wondered if that's what we are all doing in life - ever pushing at the exit latch, and only once succeeding. Then it occured to me that in life, just like this morning, before you get to the middle state between the doors, you're in the kitchen, and afterward, you're in the back yard.

Packin Light

New List: Takin on the moon trip:

1. scuba dooba doo (for two)
2. my favorite earthbound moon
3. her hair clips (antigrav ponytail)
4. flourescent frisbee
5. yo-yo
6. folding shovel
7. travel trampoline (remember tether!)
8. sparklers (for re-entry)
9. flag with mcdonalds logo
10. snowsuit for making angels in moon dust
11. moon boots (duh)
12. calipers

Pixel Pusher

I'm stacking boxes today. Boxes of boxes, made up of tiny boxes. It's called an excel shite. Jealous of the lady at Starbucks who gets to clean down the espresso machine. She gets to feel contours. She gets heat in her hands. Office plastic is neither hot nor cold. I'm pushing around little luminous squares of crystal color, using lukewarm dark-grey plastic. Coffee, put it in neutral....