I dropped off Dennis this morning, and I came back home to find the shredder begging for some attention. Such a good egg, that shredder is. Two buckets of confetti later, my massage table started whispering to me about how my next client was going to be there soon, and I should get it dressed in the Egyptian cotton sheets, so I did. My client’s knock at the door had me walking downstairs to greet him. It’s his second session, and boy does that make me happy. I’ve won a new regular client!
Client relaxed, the Catfish folk await. I was printing some of their art out on my printer for the Comic Art show opening this Saturday evening. The seven 11″ X 17″ prints that came from my printer were incredible, vibrant and vivid. Off the three of us went to the Catfish, them to work on their art, I to work on mine. Darin and I did some overhauling to the home page of the Trash Film Orgy site. Please let me know what thoughts come to you about it.
Home again, home again, popcorn ceiling writhes and shimmers, shapeshifting and pulsing to some unseen source of rhythm. The sounds in my head are whirling and clicking and dancing as if Sponge-Bob were leading an orchestra of starfish and anenome into a mazurka so sublime and yet murderously fast to lead my mind into ever-deepening spirals of calm.
When I came back from my journey, my bed’s voice caressed my timpany. Softly, slowly, its honeyed tongue tickles my bearded chin, and I float sleepward, feet hardly touching the ground. I’ll sleep.
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