like a few poet-bloggers friends lately i've been duking it out w/ the blues. the heat, the fires that are causing the very fouled air which is so thick at times that it does seem like winter, the normally blue sky smeared w/ brown blotting out the sun, my own insecurities as a man and poet, work as in the day-job stressful as hell are all contributors to my own funk. but i can blame my blues solely on me for life is shit as it stands but it is glorious shit and it is my own. how i react to these factors as i've listed them is part of my own faults.

the fires are not getting better and i've read that the smoky skies are expected to last till fall. it is a long, strange summer indeed. the videos b. and i made together yesterday lifted my blues. they are stupid antics but were so much fun to do. then last night as we drove home from our friends' house we played a cd of the postal service, a group that holds an especial meaning for anna and me because it was the album we listened to the most when she was pregnant w/ nicholas and was the very thing we listened to the morning we drove to the hospital for nicholas's birth. it is then appropriate i think that as we drove home nicholas insisted on a particular song 'the district sleeps alone tonight' as he sang along we could clearly make out the lyric 'my palms are sweaty' in his sweet voice which amplified a lovely evening made even more beautiful as my funk and w/ it my own desires however i might define them blew off w/ the slight breeze of a very warm california night.