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Remember when the teacher didn't really feel like doing anything, so she'd just show a movie?
Well, that's really not what I'm doing here.

The grass is turning brown and the soil is hard as concrete. The creeks have dried up, and the trees are wilting. Buzzards circle overhead, waiting for the sick or the old or the lame to drop in their tracks. Oracles are consulted, but their cryptic offering dry up and blow away in the slightest breeze. White, wet puffy clouds float by overhead, taunting us. They depart over the ridgetops, bitter as unrequitted love. Livestock carcusses dot the pasture. Frogs burrow deeper into what little mud lies on bottom of the pond. The dragonflies have shrivelled up. We're tieing the mattresses to the tops of the trucks now, about to head West. One more dustbowl cloud and we'll really lose it, run shrieking up the hillsides, a trail of dead cats behind us. We need rain, but there's none in the forecast.

Celebrating My Absence

No, I am not about to apologize for the lack of recent postings. I'm not even gonna curse the broken computer. Rather, I celebrate myself, Whitman style, my lack of posting, my lack of computer, and my unswept floor. I celebrate my forgetfulness, my unreturned borrowed videos, my lack of posting and my unswept floor. I have not posted in a while, and I do not apologize nor do I offer excuses, rather, I celebrate my lack of posting, Whitman style, and my unswept floor. Enter into my house at your will, and look for videos I may have borrowed from you and never returned, and I will not apologize for my unswept floor. Rather, I celebrate my floor, Whitman style, and the unreturned videos and my lack of posting.