when you put your hand up
the stars reach for themselves
reborn as flesh
I have blogged so much over the last few years. You just wouldn't be able to keep up with it. Literally. Or, rather, fictively. Imaginally. Brain-wavery. This is to say that I keep coming up with topics to blog about & even phrases, sentence, paragraphs, as I'm driving, walking, eating, etcetera-ing. Be glad you don't have to read all that!
Blogging about blogging means I have reached a new low, given that I am a bit of an anti-blogger. Groan. Grin. Bear it. My biggest consolation in all this is that, since I blog (in a form that you can access) so infrequently that you are more likely to be doing some of the things I consider "real life" (as expounded in my blog alternatives) like building a little (or big) snowbeing, or walking a dog or writing an essay about your sister that she may be considered for the title "farm wife of america."
It is snowing in Rochester, Minnesota. My son Zach is studying & doing homework. Tiffany is bustling around emptying the garbage. Quote for the day, as she re-entered the house. "How craptastik is it out there. Jeez." Later in the week we will hardboil a dozen eggs & decorate them. Maybe two dozen. I will dedicated mine to "egg horror poem" which has garnered me well over a thousand dollars so far. maybe two thousand.
I am coming up (friday) on my 52nd birthday. Finally, I will be a full deck!
Blog alternative:
200. ding ding ding, you win! Consider everything that you win just by being here as this starstuff: air to breathe. horizons. the energy of the sun, feeding you & the planet & everything between & beyond so much energy we shade ourselves from it. water. tequila. the ability to create anything you want inside your mind. dog tails wagging. the difference between silence & sound. the electramagnetic spectrum.
