mysteries

Technology remains a mystery to me + that's the way I like it. I feel a deep kinship with children who believe that the television is populated by small + versatile actors. If I apply the same logic, my iPod must be a timeshare holiday house for Joan Armatrading, Patti Smith + the Arcade Fire. They can't possibly all live there at the same time so I'm guessing the changeover happens beneath my very nose in the dead of night. Joan ambles out + Patti lopes on in. That big Arcade Fire organ takes a bit of manoeuvring.

It doesn't matter how many hours of music I load to the thing, the JAF (Joan Armatrading Factor) remains in affect. I admit I do own the best-of, + it is substantial, but surely not enough to turn up in every second shuffle, or even every fifth.

It's my technological mystery of the moment. Is the entire shuffle concept a lie? Is the nature of randomness random enough to throw out the same results continuously? Does it have anything to do with butterflies' wings or Brazil? Let me know if you have any theories. Patti + Joan will act as your guides.

PS: How cool is Arcade Fire's site design? Take a few minutes to check out the illustration if you have a few minutes up your sleeve. Yes... okay... you can use the few minutes you might have spent pondering my mystery...

treasure

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of a sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e. e. cummings

trash-bag

Today feels kinda like a day for returning to the blog, kinda like a day where there is nothing to be said at all. I'll slap some stuff down + see what happens. Let the words decide. Trash or treasure? It could go either way.

For the 0.2% of my people who don't yet know... I broke a rib, nana-style, a week + a half ago. I was racing a basket of washing through the rain + turned impromptu acrobat when I hit some slippery steps, completely knocking the stuffing out of meself in the process. It was a scary exercise + definitely not something I'd endorse. It's also plunged me into a melancholy, I must admit.

I've never been a great invalid. I get all mopey + pathetic + bored. So far the rib incident has been akin to a bad case of laryngitis I had just before P + I broke up. Day One of silence was almost a buzz. I'd never really lost my voice before + it had novelty value. By Day Seven I was ready to scream... although, of course, I couldn't. The novelty of my first broken bone has completely + utterly passed. I'm now oscillating between hammy hypochondria + genuine pain-fest. I keep waiting to snap out of it + feel consistently better. And I guess I will. In six weeks when the fracture has actually healed. For now I can survive with hurting a bit, not being able to walk much, not being able to lift stuff + generally not being able to do exactly what I want to do. I am thankful that it wasn't anything worse. A broken arm, for example, or a crushed skull. But when I'm ouchy + grumpy the tendency is to return to woeful-invalid-girl. Moan moan moan. Get over yourself woeful-invalid-girl!

for weeze

for weeze