Thanksgiving has traditionally been a day for fitful guitaring, and I imagine that in my old tape archives, there are at least a half dozen songs called “Thanksgiving”. It’s a seemingly appropriate day for stroking my own cornucopia, and yesterday was not an exception. So: this spasming ditty came about after the second viewing of Orphée in 12 hours. Rather than squeeze it to completion, I’ll just put it out on the table.

I do think I may keep blogging my spills, breakings and other accidents, preferrably via photo…today’s wouldn’t really come out in a picture: during a meeting, I kept scratching my leg with a retractable pen, which turned out not to be retracted. Fortunately I was wearing dark blue pants, so I’m the only person who noticed the black sketch explosion on my thigh.

After two remarkable accidents today–among the steady hum of spills, stumbles and modest catastrophes that colors my physical ambit–I wondered if there might be some intangible intrinsic value to these mishaps. Every day these things happen, and they frustrate me. Thwarted, cursing–what am I missing? Maybe there is a message in what shatters? I’ll try to pay more attention.

All new breathing: after a sludgy weekend, the head-cold breaks, just in time for a return to the workweek. Sniffled & cleaned much of the weekend, to less than hoped result.

At one point I consulted the Oblique Strategies, which stated: “Not building a wall, but making a brick”. I thought, ‘Yeah, exactly”, but now I’m not sure how small the brick is supposed to be. Maybe I need to go back further: “Not making a brick, but finding the mud.”

Katie Eary Spring Collection

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Minor Seconds blog is at full ebb. Summer seems to be the slow season by far. But then last fall was when things really got cooking around here, following a similar silent phase, so–

I’d concede to feeling pretty uninspired and generally drained for a while – for reasons probably already sufficiently alluded to – but I hope to brighten the creeative corners, and fall is always a favored season for that. Whether or not this translates into swole blogging will remain to be seen…

Shortly, I creep in to 30[s]. Son of Sam Hain, get yourself back!

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Where is my other?

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Out of want for an appropriate and efficient modality for quick blags and general micropithyness, and with some inspiration from Minor blogcrush Vander Yacht, I’ve christened my ship in the waters of Twitter:

twitter.com/cord___

Oh, eaten words, you taste so good!

Yesterday afternoon I spent the afternoon working in the gallery I used to call job; at the desk of the past. Here’s an interlude against self-pity and stress-stoking, in celebration of slow time.

Discussing marriage and last names, after arguing in favor of offspring taking Mother’s last name (as opposed to Father’s), I considered a better solution to a dilemma of the post-patriarchic (and non-hetero) Partnership: Children’s last names should be a Combination of the Parents’.