when i woke up, easter was miles behind me, winter was edging through the door, disguised in veils of rain, but yup, that surely is her pale foot wedged in the gap and had i blogged? no. had i recorded my music? no. had i recovered the torn cushions? no. have i thrown out all my sparkly indian clothes? no. in fact, i bought more from the markets.
but yes, i have nearly finished the jack kerouac novel. he, crazy neal cassady and a smattering of other beatniks who kept the faith, have recently arrived in mexico, glittery eyed and wild.
and school is about to start. monday. god. school. monday. mondays will be Real Mondays again. which means sundays will be Real Blue Sundays again. and week-ends will be sweet relief. but then again it also means that the summer hols (which are really winter ones here but lovely and long) are only ten weeks away. and have i read julius caeser? no. and have i finished death of a salesman? no siree, i have not.
what would it be like if Time had a pause button? and a delete button. but no rewind. but you were only allowed to press them three times per life. . . and for as long as you liked? and you could press play when it turned nasty or as W.C Fields said, when things were filled with "eminent peril".
of course this would all work terribly well if other people would kindly co operate with your pause and delete too. but if not, golly, things could be even more perilous than they presently are. "gosh!" (napoleon dynamite)
i know where i would pause my time. and i certainly know which bits i would delete. retrospectively, naturally and herein lies the inherent problem with this idea. one has to think carefully about this, ya know. repercussions. consequences and all. time is no flippant thing. mostly it feels like it's on fast forward. was it only 30 odd years ago when cowboys wore tight white pants and thought it cool? ? and magnum PI was It? when we wore lee jeans, checked shirts, hand painted silver high tops, tied pony tails on the side of our heads and wore cherry red lip gloss, boogying on down to Heart Of Glass and Funky Town in crappy little backwater towns?
oh this rhetorical blathering is doing my head in.
time to move on.
taa ra then, from a rainy wet ngorobob hill, bisous X.X.X. lightening flickered ones x j