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5 November 2001
The 27th Anniversary Edition of Elsewhere
(+1 day)


it makes the heart gather moss

So the month of October was a quiet month here in the happywonderland of Elsewhere. We were busy, oh yes we were, cooking up schemes, getting misunderstood, and yes, even writing. Not to mention taking up the habit of referring to ourselves with the editorial "we." We doubt we were missed all that much, but we were paying attention to those few of you who still kept a look out for new content during that cold, frigid month. OK, enough with the screwy third-person, already. Let's get to the action.

Ostensibly, I took the month dark to re-gather some thoughts and try to forcibly end my writing slump: post-August, very little writing took place here, either on the (now increasingly uncertain) Sparkling Tower project or any poetry in general. The month was spent quiet by the inspiration (not at the behest, lest you misinterpret what I mean here) of Raven. Things I was saying were being mis-read in record numbers, both online and off, and I had to turn the engine off for a little while to see if cooling down would improve the signal-to-noise ratio, and kick-start the creative writing in the process.

Success struck, in a sense, when I actually took the time and wrote a poem with several of the images which had been floating around lately, a quiet little fourteen line poem called attic. I didn't write anything else creatively the entire month, but I also started serializing and posting the novella Intimations of Geography.

birthday hoedown

So it was the weekend of my 27th birthday. Festivities began Thursday night, when the obligatory sushi dinner took place at U-Zen in West LA. Last year a graduated scale was introduced, and this year was the first time I was subject to the horrors of eating sushi which I simply shouldn't. Last year, I described how eating a single salmon roe egg tasted like fisherman's wharf smells. This year, like a trooper, I subjected myself to an entire salmon roe roll. When each egg burst in my mouth, it was like fisherman's wharf on the fourth of july. Fish-brine taste flooded my senses, and I found it quite thoroughly unpleasant. But I took it like a (nearly 27-year-old) man. Bleah. Maybe next year, I'll treat my friends to steak or something?

Friday was Monsters, Inc. with Stacey and Maria. A wonderful evening all told, not to mention the good conversation and the Star Wars trailer. I'm glad Maria made it out despite feeling yucky.

Saturday, I got from Stacey a signed copy of Neuromancer by William Gibson.

Sunday, the actual birthday itself, lunch and dinner with the family and the nieces. I have more stories to tell here tonite, but the hour is late. Perhaps I'll elaborate later.

a magnitude without a direction

I have new hands with rings, perfect nails, bracelets on my wrists and strong, supple muscle. Hundreds of invisible graces support me where I stand. I have blue smooth cotton and the scent of rain and ocean. I can see what's real inside what's physical. Pluck my tendons and they vibrate at the frequency of the border of day and night. Eternity is just a word, but forever is a long way down. I will decorate a room with plants or flowers or wrought-iron or chrome, a mind with words and visions, ears with songs and poems. I will embellish the already-beautiful. On hazy nights, from just the right angle, I radiate into the fog. I am the channel and I am the voices. I have secret wings.


musings of señor prod.

A little precession at the Revolution.

 

©2001 Timothy A. Clark -|-