- Shrimp and grits from the breakfast counter at the farmer's market. For all this week I've been eating like a sensible human being, vegetarian even, depending on where you stand with low-fat cheese slices, and on my way to get nice local freshness to continue this path, the siren call of shrimp and grits, and that call I gleefully answered. Buttery shrimp ettouffe over grits and scrambled eggs. I will stand that I am still eating healthier because I didn't ask for a link of sausage on the side.
- Part of this healthy lifestyle bullshit is walking and walking and the other day when Maya and the dog and I were walking around the lakes, we were bowled over by this dramatic pink and blue and yellow and a little green sunset over the lakes. The inadequacy of the cameraphone camera does not give this thing justice. It was a sunset of the sort that destroys you with its brilliance, like when Zeus is coaxed by Hera to reveal his glory to his mistress Semelë thereby evaporating her, and the fact that are you are not destroyed and are still reading this is testament to the camera's deficiencies.
- Donovan's "Wear Your Love Like Heaven." I have reached near saturation with my Arthur Lee infatuation this week, a sign of which was this song being stick in my head for two days. As masters of the form, Donovon is no Arthur Lee, but just as my wanting to be healthier doesn't equate orthodoxy and strict adherence, sometimes a good stab at an ideal is exactly what you need.
- It has been made fairly clear to me that my job is rather secure so that mild anxiety has dissipated. It was really voiced here a couple days ago to purge it form the loop in my head. 2009, if it can be declared to be about anything yet, and hell why not do it anyway, is about filling in holes, and by extension, ruts that I find myself in. I also recognize this is something I always say because it is something that everyone says, but it is still worth saying.
- Right now as I'm trying to think of a way to cap this all off, "Hurdy Gurdy Man" came on just as it started gently raining out my window, not like Zeus impregnating Danaë in the form of golden rain but as feathery touches whose intensity grew in perfect sync with Donovan in his tremolo fake nostalgia engine, and I'm about to go chop up some garlic and wither some spinach, both from the farmer's market, for lunch and that seems to be good enough.
PS: Donovon's "Epistle to Dippy", a song I'd forgotten completely about, is now my sanctioned and official jam.
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