soul bits from the scribble book

first of all, happy saint-jean-baptiste!

i’ve spent the week dragging my ass around, smiling sloppily and washing the last vestiges of a month of delicious semi-mayhem from my pores. so no full, lushly rounded thoughts for you, my ducklings. instead, i offer a smorgasbord of soul bits from the infamous scribble book.

(ok, this one goes back a little over a month (which somehow seems so far away!) well whatever: relive spring!) the air smells of autumn, but it looks like spring – complete with the neon green peach fuzz that now canopies our sky with its retro meshness. all this frolicking – pre-pubescent trees rubbing up against each other, giggling their coy consent on the cool breeze.
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we are standing outside the party, smoking anything we can wrap our lips around. we gaze lazily at the sky. we do not know, but the northern lights are backstage, smoking cigarettes to soothe their jitterbug blood or standing in corners retracing sections of the choreography they're about to thrill the city folk with. one of us speaks staggeringly, “what time is it?” another ventures a guess: “12:30? 1?” another looks at his watch and laughs – it’s exactly 12:31.
ahhh, it’s the little things that delight me so…
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i am on the threshold of trouble, and i beg for more. yes, yes, make me dirty with your shy gaze and wanton laugh.