Walking around barefoot tonight created accidental artwork.
I should take a picture of my feet. My feet, or rather the bottoms of my feet, look like something Jean Dubuffet would have created early in his painting career. Oh, Jean Dubuffet. And butterflies. Oh.

I cannot descend into sleep, the name of that play written by Paul Zindel (I think) has been on my mind since we started talking about science projects; (I cannot recall how we came to discuss this) I never participated in the world of the science fair, it confused and bored me. Yet, I cannot remember the title. I just read the play in June and enjoyed it.

The wind rustles through the trees and acorns drop on the deck and roof. Their desent and music makes me happy.
goodnight.
goodnight acorns.
goodnight love.

One cannot count their chickens before they hatch.

I miss Vassar.

Oh the crisp attitude of this August day.
Oh this Monday.

My father was talking about how one cannot anticipate little chickens hatching before they actually hatch; something like that. I found it to be profoundly amusing; it worked better in the context of conversation and coming from his mind rather than my memory. It is very good advice.

The bee sting didn't hurt as much as I had previously thought a bee sting would. Perhaps it was because I wasn't even aware that the stingy insects were present. It was an ambush. Sitting, enjoying the river, ahhh. It was lovely, almost too beautiful. A place for Thomas Kinkade to paint an ugly painting. Thomas Kinkade, I do not like your artwork. If I ever met Mr. Kinkade I would never tell him of this; yet if I didn't have the social constraints of society on my mind, I might. In any case, I think I spelt his name wrong.


My essay(s) beckon me. It is August 22nd. Yes, indeed.

Oh, wisdom teeth. I am glad that you are gone.

DAH! Samuel Beckett is oddly amusing. Yes, that's what it is. Oddly amusing.

By January this will all be over. Or February perhaps. But that is a very long time away. Then I have to wait. DAH! I wish I could wake up and be accepted and have a hefty scholarship. I'll try to think of it like Meisiner.

DAH!

It would have been lovely to stay there for a little while longer, but alas or perhaps alack, I left for reasons beyond my control. Reasons that root back to the 1600s or to an editor in 1994.

Orange Juice. 18 different variations. That was a thoughtful morning. So thought provoking, that I am still thinking about it.

You!

Dah.
Back in Eau Claire.
Happiness is walking around the university campus on a lovely day with a blue scarf.
Or perhaps a green scarf.
Happiness is an entire cast of indiviudals in plaid. Not really though. More like a fiesta for the rods and cones in one's eyes. Happiness is the concept that they all match in a quirky fashion. It was beautiful in my mind at least. Like many things.
Dylan Thomas is a poorly made children's toy. An arduous task to construct, with some breakage, and the product being somthing intriguing yet shabby. Not to undermine Dylan Thomas' words, I adore them. They still feel fragile. Yes, that is what I mean.
Samuel Beckett too, only I don't see his words as a cheaply made children's toy.

That's like seventy times my soul.