(no subject)
Beautiful out there.
The hills with their somber taupes and muted earthtones fire brief gold in the retreating sunlight while the shadows come up bluer and bluer until the windowpane looks like a jar of Vicks Vaporub, canned midnight.
Cold air and slim pickings make beggars of the birds. They eat catfood, seasoning themselves Nine Lives flavored for any feline fast enough to catch them. The possum does likewise, appearing at the late night show to chomp and clatter in the food dish, all eyes and snaggled teeth. I've heard if you trap them, you must feed them a clean diet for awhile before you eat them, as they're scavengers and apt to taste horribly. I don't know if I could eat them. I want to appreciate them more than I do, but they're so everlastingly ugly, the maggots of the animal kingdom.
I'll have to beat or wash the dust mop then extend the handle and wave it about. High ceilings make for mass cobweb action, the little fuckers playing Tarzan all over the place. There's practically a basket weave on the ceiling fan. It's great atmosphere, but the sisters are apt to think it's only dirty.
Andy got a job close and has found a house to rent, and should be moving there soon. He'll be shut of his present girlfriend; a draggy, Susan Sarandon stunt double. I'd have liked her better had I ever heard her express any joy or enthusiasm for anything. Anything at all. I hope he picks something better--he's tried a wide variety of women, from hard-working winners to specimens I wouldn't allow in the door.
I'm still reading "Gone with the Wind", though I practically know it word for word, having first read it when I was 14 or so. Different parts stand out in the story, depending on where you are in your life, and what you bring with you. It's almost like those adventure books in which the story twisted and turned depending on what choices you made at chapter's end.
The hills with their somber taupes and muted earthtones fire brief gold in the retreating sunlight while the shadows come up bluer and bluer until the windowpane looks like a jar of Vicks Vaporub, canned midnight.
Cold air and slim pickings make beggars of the birds. They eat catfood, seasoning themselves Nine Lives flavored for any feline fast enough to catch them. The possum does likewise, appearing at the late night show to chomp and clatter in the food dish, all eyes and snaggled teeth. I've heard if you trap them, you must feed them a clean diet for awhile before you eat them, as they're scavengers and apt to taste horribly. I don't know if I could eat them. I want to appreciate them more than I do, but they're so everlastingly ugly, the maggots of the animal kingdom.
I'll have to beat or wash the dust mop then extend the handle and wave it about. High ceilings make for mass cobweb action, the little fuckers playing Tarzan all over the place. There's practically a basket weave on the ceiling fan. It's great atmosphere, but the sisters are apt to think it's only dirty.
Andy got a job close and has found a house to rent, and should be moving there soon. He'll be shut of his present girlfriend; a draggy, Susan Sarandon stunt double. I'd have liked her better had I ever heard her express any joy or enthusiasm for anything. Anything at all. I hope he picks something better--he's tried a wide variety of women, from hard-working winners to specimens I wouldn't allow in the door.
I'm still reading "Gone with the Wind", though I practically know it word for word, having first read it when I was 14 or so. Different parts stand out in the story, depending on where you are in your life, and what you bring with you. It's almost like those adventure books in which the story twisted and turned depending on what choices you made at chapter's end.