...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...

A Triumvirate of Randomnesses (+ a Bonus Track)

  1. Quote: "She was still thinking about Mauricio Babilonia, his smell of grease, and his halo of butterflies, and she would keep on thinking of him for all the days of her life until the remote autumn morning when she died of old age, with her name changed and her head shaved and without ever having spoken a word..." (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

  2. Favorite new word:

    FORMICATION (noun)--Pathology. An abnormal sensation as of ants creeping over the skin. (@ Words of Wallace)

  3. The dissociative brain: humble servant sent to rescue and protect, regardless of need or want. Steps up. Packs everything into tight boxes. Ships it all off to dark and musty storage spaces. Good memories--more painful than bad--sent away as well. And so the struggle: the desperate attempt to hold onto the good, the sacrifice of holding onto bad to do so. Scrambling fingers with no grip. But always: memories shelved and stored away, a dewey-decimaled Eternal Sunshine but with no card catalogue--the brain slips it all away on shelves, and then returns to the circulation desk to wait for the next.

  4. BONUS TRACK: My new chiropractic remedy is to tie a scarf really tightly around my chest above my tits and walk around all night with it there. Terrible fashion, but it keeps my shoulder blade from migrating forward as it likes to do. I have not told Chiroman about this though as I suspect it will result in a swift punch to my temple.



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