erratum

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happy dance

Our new house in Leamington after two weeks of wait finally got internet today. WILL WRITE NOW.  If only I had time?

p.63 (still)

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late late morning w/o IJ

Watching Sarah Palin's verbal diarrhea of stupidness and incompetence has finally damaged my eyeballs (too much rolling) and I am going to sleep at 11:40 am. Kudos to insomnia peeps!

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dialogue in my dream

Standing next to several shelves full with books in a room filled with grey light I am part of this conversation.

'What is your favourite star?'

'Crab..' The other person slides her finger along a spine of a thick book with name of the constellation embodied on it in white letters.

I look over all the titles 'Crab Nebula? All those explosions.. Melancholia is deadly beautiful. Look it up.'

And then I have to exit because I am late again. White light. 

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two weeks of silence

I don't believe in silence being gold, mostly it's pure laziness. This time it's half and half. Call it a twenty something's crisis? No, laziness is not a crisis. The other half is still fulfilled with raw emotion rather than idle being and feeling that I haven't done enough, again contemplating that other part of idleness. Reason?

Possibly this: two weeks ago I saw a play in theatre festival Homo Alibi in Riga that asked what is the role of an artist. An old man replied - an artist is a beetle collecting shit and occasionally creating something wonderful out of it. My guess, that's how Infinite Jest came into being. A lot of ugliness meticulously observed by a craftsman and noted down. The frequent streams of consciousness are sometimes overpowering and making me to read the sentences twice or trice, seldom the grumpy me notes that some editing should be in place. Nevertheless, the richness of writing is elating and truly exercising one's mind. The slowness pokes my laziness in its wobbly tummy. I need some more muscles to finish this.

p.55

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six am and blurred vision 

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p.41

'Hey Hal?'

'I'm going to propose that I tell you a joke, Boo, on the condition that afterward you shush and let me sleep.'

'Is it a good one?'

'Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, an unwilling agnostic, and a dyslexic.'

'I give.'

'You get somebody who stays up all night torturing himself mentally over the question of whether or not there's a dog.'

[puzzledforehead-blog]

new beginnings

After three shorter or longer lived virtual written outbursts each ending its life as a minor disappointment I still have the eagerness left to claim that this one will be different. That's it. I'm claiming. See for yourselves. 

Ok, I'm not providing any details of the other now password-protected blogs. What is it with wanting privacy for your thoughts? Oh, it's non-existant. But I'm still pretending. Also that my dislocated jaw is fine and not hurting. Fun times! 

(By the way, the jaw accident unfortunately doesn't entail a story of an ubercool happening, rather resulting from casual chewing of rye bread and making faces at the same time, although I also blame my dog's envious eye because she wasn't getting any.)

So, the new beginning starts here - I'm in my living room in Jurmala, Latvia. Reading my way through David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest and indulging in any digression I can find. This is it. The documentation of one's puzzled forehead.