It got warm yesterday, sort of. Then it bit me. Cold again, just like that, like a spanking. [grrrrrrstuuuubbbooorn] I’m repainting some more. I am baking things and packing junk in my trunk for the beach. TJ will slowly release sand across my shins where it sticks to the lake water rivulets. I will dig a moat, liking the symbolism, tiny armed men strategically placed. I will turn brown easily I will scratch a back I will eat a hot dog I will go swimming through hair I will fall in love with something new or more with something already probably both if at all at all possible cuz that’s how I like things and stick my nose in the purple smell of what I planted last year no more promising than a bulb, almost as certainly as I will grow old and die except sooner and more happily. So there.

When I was 3 years old and got a tonsillectomy and thus started remembering things (AHH!) and I thought “I like running” as one of my very first thoughts, and I still think that. In the back of my mind has for a long time been also, a childhood song from the same era of those very first thoughts, like Puff the Magic Dragon only not that, or something something, . . . and it’s about a kid and his dog. Even when I found Harry Nilsson’s “Are You Sleeping?” last year (and blogged it), it didn’t jog anything at all, but I’ve always remembered me and my arrow la la la, though I could never remember anything else about it; so since it seems every damn thing is on YouTube, I plugged that line in and up it popped: The Point, narrated by Ringo Star. What floors me is that, although I literally couldn’t reach to wipe my own ass yet, the point of The Point wrote itself on the wall of my brain so indelibly that I swear to god I have all these years felt and said some of these things over and over and over.





“guilty of living in our midst without a point” (with a dog) = good (and banished)

totally