braincloud miniver I had heard, or maybe read, or..."it was in the air" that Godhead were something to see, en concierto. But, then, I can't say I've seen them, or either, or much of anyone. I haven't even listened to half of everyone's everytune, and I love 82.6% of it all. Does that make me fortunate, unfortunate, or just indecisive -- I haven't decided. For some, I seek forgiveness; the plucky Sublime, the Rancids, and the Feederz all those twitchy, mostly-simple punks I ought to overlook, and the unholy electronique, with the Chemical sounds (and maybe the "Animal", too), and those weird unnatural things, and that deep destructive noise! But, then there's Basie, and Barnard, and all that jazz, and the Chopins, the Puccinis, the scherzos and the symphonies -- so the other part of the world forgives me -- and all that time that's gone, and not much left. All to the belly. I wonder if I've even heard one song from each year of the last 70 years of songs? 000423 ... miniver I suppose I'm like that with books, too, though. The bigger the bookstore, the more tragic the choice becomes. I must be missing out on everything that I'm missing out on (bah--see if all of you can write it without an ending preposition). Yesterday, I hauled my speakers out onto our deck (which, eight floors up, looks over a smallish-medium river to the populated "river-walk" winding along the way) -- and, as loud as I could, I played my most saxy jazz cd (because the brass carries quite a distance). Truth. And the little passersby looked up, questioningly, and I stood there for an hour, and more, my stupid grin and I. Well, I sat for a while, too -- still grinning. It was a breezy-sunny sort of evening. No one yelled up, though, or anything...I'd kinda hoped to catch a weirdo, maybe. I grin when I write about it. What a foolish mood. I forgive myself, for I have a great view. The parliament building and grounds, and the river, right in front, and the office and apartment buildings all around. Also, I love having the place to myself...which I have. It's like food, really. If you're ever going to cook for someone -- I mean, "real" cooking, with "real" food -- I say decide what to make by what the weather is like. Same with music -- that music needed to be played, at that particular time, in that place, with that particular breeze blowing, and that one seagull squawking overhead; if I had been walking down there, with those people, I would have expected someone to play some good ol' timeless jazz for me. Not fate, but only one small, sorrowful moment of brilliant timing. Or I could be full of it. Some people don't like jazz, I guess, right? Maybe I interrupted someone's "quiet time". 000423 ... amy so the question is what was the seagull doing there 000423 ... miniver He swooped a few times, and squawked, and I never saw him again. I don't remember if he left before or after the cd ended, and I brought my speakers back in. Hrmm. I like to think that he came in commemmoration of my too-short-term interlude with an empty apartment. What's a good memory without an anthropomorphized seagull, anyway? 000423 ... amy the seagulls they don't come too close to my window. pigeons sit on the roof across the way and poke at each other a lot. stand on each other's backs. there was a one legged pigeon who visited me often for a good two weeks, but i haven't seen him since i tried to feed him... also these warblers that come to my balcony railing in the morning every so often, warbling their aubades (or whatever that wordoftheday was). the Televisionary Oracle by Rob Brezsny. 000423 ... . . 050112 ... three words in_the_air_tonight hmmmmmm braincloud 060122 ... nom in the air in the air, i found that trippy 060122 what's it to you? who go blather from