there are things to write about (like neat movies and the continuing adventures of brian eno and playing one section of a hungarian dance over and over again because it's been too long since i snapped a string and i wanna see if i can make one go now and sitting between two women in their fifties belly-laughing over bum jokes and when i sat on the kitchen floor absolutely crushed because i'm out of coriander seeds and so could not make the curry i'd planned) but i don't think i'm very coherent at the moment.

still affected by something this afternoon, when humidity and other petty things had worked me up into uber-grouchiness.

pulled in the driveway. a blob of bird shit landed on the car. but just underneath the exhaust pipe, i noticed a frangipani flower. i picked it up, it was somehow uncrushed and unbattered by the storm. it smelled sweet.

did i mention that there were no frangipani trees in sight?

the gifts of fate are strange.