these boots were made for walking, these fingers for talking

this is my leg. this is my leg on stairs.


one week ago i fell down my back stairs as i was walking, in sensible shoes, down to put my laundry into the dryer. it was raining. my knee also has a large bruise and a scab. this is less remarkable than my shin shiner as my knees are bruised about 70% of the time. i fall down a lot. so much so that a mean friend might say that:

falling down is "pulling a wendy"

did you know that more than 8% of the u.s. population may suffer from restless leg syndrome (an overwhelming urge to move the legs usually caused by uncomfortable or unpleasant sensations in the legs)?! my leg is currently uncomfortable and suffering from unpleasant sensations but it is also apparently unbreakable. yes, i just had to go there.

go where, you ask? maybe you didn't follow that link. my decision to use so many links in these blog postings has been questioned by well-meaning readers. to this i respond

i am a gateway drug

i really don't mind if people navigate away from my blog.

"Admittedly it is an outer husk: its face, in all its featureful perfection of imperfection, is its fortune: it exhibits only the civil or military clothing of whatever passionpallid nudity or plaguepurple nakedness may happen to tuck it self under its flap.

Yet to concentrate solely on the literal sense or even the psychological content of any document to the sore neglect of the enveloping facts themselves circumstantiating it is just as hurtful to sound sense (and let it be added to the truest taste) as were some fellow in the act of perhaps getting an intro from another fellow turning out to be a friend in need of his, say, to a lady of the latter s acquaintance, engaged in performing the elaborative antecistral ceremony of upstheres, straightaway to run off and vision her plump and plain in her natural altogether, preferring to close his blinkhard s eyes to the ethiquethical fact that she was, after all, wearing for the space of the time being some definite articles of evolutionary clothing, inharmonious creations, a captious critic might describe them as, or not strictly necessary or a trifle irritating here and there, but for all that suddenly full of local colour and personal perfume and suggestive, too, of so very much more and capable of being stretched, filled out, if need or wish were, of having their surprisingly like coincidental parts separated don t they now, for better survey by the deft hand of an expert, don t you know?

Who in his heart doubts either that the facts of feminine clothiering are there all the time or that the feminine fiction, stranger than the facts, is there also at the same time, only a little to the rere? Or that one may be separated from the other? Or that both may then be contemplated simultaneously? Or that each may be taken up and considered in turn apart from the other?"

isn't that brilliant, intriguing and perhaps orchidal? it is a re-translation into english of a japanese translation of finnegans wake by james joyce. i really think you should read every last bit of that most recently linked item, hark that siren's call sirs.

in another odyssey, our halloween as the high hats was an amazing adventure. stay tuned for the pictures.

postscript: i could look into ways to list what i'm currently listening to. in case you're curious it is pavement's "stop breathin'" off the record crooked rain. write it on a postcard. did you know that my father is named stan and my sister is named penelope? did you know that the boy i try not to be obsessed with once made posts about love & lust in libraries and going to see a stars concert with a girl named penelope? if you like reading about individuals equally obsessed with fate-based self-identity, might i suggest you check out what my book group recently read.