For the longest time, there was construction @ the Jones Blvd./Russell Rd intersection, but t’was a mystery as to who the new tenant would be. Time wore on, and work trucks pushed around the cat litter that is characteristic of vacant lots in Las Vegas. Eventually, the structure began taking shape.
A car wash, I thought? A Jack in the Box? My less cynical side considered the possibility of professional offices, since there were pockets of those in the vicinity.
Finally, a sign recently announced the new occupant in large letters: 7-Eleven COMING SOON! So after countless months of waiting, everyone was pleased to know that there really is a Godot.
JS Bach piano sonatas, where the dance across the keys is a carefree & confident one; where notes are like bubbles in champagne during gala conversation. I am happiest with Bach, where nothing could go wrong, tho I do fancy being happily drunk on mimosas to Chopin’s piano impromptu No. 1 in A-flat major, Op. 29.
Speaking of which, today’s theme has been oranges, or in general, citrus. I spotted images of oranges all day, and then there was talk of rainfall and orange groves with a friend over a lunch of Thai food, after which orange wedges were served as dessert.
The restaurant host (I assume this was his role) was a very formal man and was well-dressed (in all black) but had the pallid air of a mortician. I was reminded of Peter Lorre, where no matter how amiable he behaved, he still came off as if he were plotting gruesome murder. The waitresses, meanwhile, wore cheerful maroon jumpsuits with golden-yellow flourishes and spoke to each other in their native language. Continue reading
A waffle would be nice a waffle w/ hot melting butter & maple syrup is good in winter log cabin/greatgrandma’s house soft rug cold cat nose reruns of daytime soaps auntie L watching intently on the sofa Debussy grilledcheese/coffee&cake /reassurance a lift home laughter/gamesofcardsforpennies homemadestruffoli/&/tenderpanettone easy chair&ottomen greatgrandma/mom&dadhappy/me/sister/brother/cousins sandwiches after dinner cordials+cookies long/Sundays & then three flights of stairs down in noisy musty hallway w/ eternal aroma of boiled broccoli and potatoes then home.
Black coffee in espresso cup resting on saucer atop secondhand book purchased for 25¢. In bed I continue reading Allen Ginsberg’s Planet News. Morning outside: the sun struggles against the clouds. Reminded of Whitman while reading. Reminded of proclamations, with Ginsberg’s text stretching from end to end on page after page. Reminded of Ferlinghetti, with text drizzling downward in thin stacks.
I hear a phone that is not answered. I listen for some time. The ringtone trails off and seems to leave an echo in my brain.
Where is the owner of the phone. Is he/she still alive. Has something gone wrong or are they merely indisposed.
This might be an important call…
- it’s your boss
- it’s your angry spouse
- it’s your worried mother
- it’s debt collections
- it’s your broke friend
Who calls rather than texts anyhow.
I linger for some time to see how it plays out. Like looking at an empty, banged-up vehicle. Resting by a lamppost after a crash.
Almost anyone with hiccups will sound cute. Just like almost anyone with a cold — when they speak, that is.
I like the way people’s voices sound when they just wake up. Sort of scratchy yet soothing.
Maybe people sound better or come across as more winsome when their defenses are down.
The great egrets shunned the other waterfowl.
The egrets were staying in Vegas as part of their winter migrational route. Like an ivy league clique, they stuck up their bills while congregating in a lush, green riparian grove, which made their white plumage all the more stunning — like fresh-fallen snow.
And they knew it.
Meanwhile, the gambel’s quail were skittish, despite being on their year-round turf. They ran from the paparazzi as per usual, head plumes bobbing as they made for the clearings, taking cover in the bramble. Continue reading
Holding my breath until the weekend. Some weeks feel like ascending Everest—with its peak being my two days off, of course.
Everest even contains the word “rest,” as well as “ever,” which to me means perpetual leisure and not death. Imagine having leisure forever.
This would not be like something enjoyed by a vampire, for even they have to work after sundown, seeking victim after victim to feed upon. Though Lugosi made it look effortless and then just crawled into his coffin while others in his part of the world were just waking up.
Once I found a seashell that I still have to this day. It was carried ashore by the belligerent tide at Jones Beach State Park in New York when I was a child. And now, as I feel tossed by my turbulent thoughts and frozen by frightening uncertainties, I hold onto it for solace — my seaside talisman