Chicken soup, hot port with cloves, a stack of trad CD’s bequeathed by a friend ce soir, hot water bottle, cashmere cardigan, bed socks, book and flurries outside the window.
Nest. Nesting. Nested.
This is the winter of perfecting the art of nesting. The small male and myself agree on this heartily. A couch per reading penguin, we intend to double the volume of hot water bottles (2 per penguin) and I have to stop snaffling his bed socks. (only one pair permitted on one respective set of flippers) We have not quite perfected his choice of hot drink. We believe strongly and severely in coziness and comfort in these parts. We are dedicated to comfortable reading the way others are to the pursuit of the puck.
Patience of a saint…
Especially for those experiencing trickiness in and about the lung, and mamasitas’ near to them. I love the octave the woman sings at the end! High.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyLjbMBpGDA&fs=1&hl=en_GB]
Rhotic intermission
Along the theme of collapse, my tumbling has entered a state of its own arrest. An unrecognizable slide backwards. A more useful slide would the powerful up and over and on momentum. The calamity is, as ever, in the linking moves. Independently the moves are rather dashing, but there just not much use if you cannot link them together. You have just that — — —– — – — instead of ____!______!__!_!_______!
I continue this beat of agnosticism. The physical reciting of prayer minus every third word. Not exciting. Not compelling. A line of broken up despondency. Not even the despondency is consistent!
As detailed in my ongoing Rhotic titled “transactions” around and with the topic my iron levels are low and need to go from a number 11 up to a number 35. Except the iron supplements, even liquid, make me sick. I am officially blaming the 11 that needs to be a 35 for this arrest in progress. Once it’s a 35 I’ll have to concoct some other beauty of an excuse. But it will take consuming a field full of broccolli to drive it up. The fact of the matter is that after a period of exertion — and tumbling repeatedly even when you’re failing is just that — the body is like a JCB digger with no tires and no front or rear bucket. The bones do their clunky thing with insufficient votes from the muscles. Then there follows the supine protest. The flat pack obliteration.
The documentation arrived this week for our (Lori and I) performance art collaboration at Open Space. They detail in the video projection … what now evades me.
The mild mannered Bryan Dobson betrays his (and the country’s) annoyance in questioning a belligerent Brian Lenihan who is like Tufty the Squirrel no icecream truck will ever knock me down, not even if I happen to be driving one into the wall.
Have the IMF already introduced austerity measures on Nob Nation podcasting — we went over there hoping for big time treasure given the endless material all week — and only found the Cork Special with Roy Keane.
Biffo, with a half readable sign behind him that reads “We’re about inspira..” (inspiration? Should that not read irony, or iron necks or insanity?), speaks in half sentences that add up to no sense at all. (note reporter “you’re talking in riddles”) It’s like a horse race with no fences, no giddy up, no ending, just rolling bland plains and dreary eyes watching in disbelief as the turf keeps on coming.
“My reason, for my position.” (How can he be so singular?! He’s speaking on behalf of a whole nation! Not the distribution of fizzy pop around the kitchen table…)
I am starting to believe firmly in the human tonic. That of other people who know and understand a physically distant world of which you speak and who possess an uncanny ability to comfort and reassure one on any number of fronts, incl that one. Thank Christ for them. I’d have been lost since Sunday only for these exquisite individuals.
During the day they come into my life through different mediums, normally sentences, and make the particular hazy hue of the moment transparent and provide the good pain inside the lungs that’s laughter. They’re almost all women. Encore go raibh mile. You know who you are.
Emotions are stirred, indeed. Vin B attempting to Address the slither. (go to 13.32) “A time of great shame and despondency” (on self determination) and on and more. “Shameful, humiliating … the sense of arrogance at the root of what caused this crisis shows no sign of abating… ” ” a sense of delusion among the Fianna Fail leadership … they don’t seem to know the gravity of what’s happening..” “We are inviting the IMF in” … “You guys are completely delusional … this is being forced upon us …”
The unbelievable slime from this FF politician, you couldn’t find such in the largest, most over populated, prone to lack of cleaning fish tank! Audacious slime!
Following this, latter days, has almost proved a full time job. Gratitude to my amigos/amigas on the South side there for keeping me abreast and translating.