It is April, after all, and Eliot Spritzer is the subject of a new documentary about the waste land also known as the nation of miserable fucks (NOMF™). Thomas Sterns is probably still going to and fro in his imaginary afterlife through the rooms where people discuss Michelangelo, because what else are they going to talk about? That life sucks? How would they know?
I spent the donuttiest month writing a screenplay called Nothing Like Love because I knew I could. I put together a playlist of the songs that I was listening to while I pounded the pudboard and posted it at iTunes. The three songs not on iTunes would be the first in the list (Aybe Sea) and the last (Bolero). Keep on Shining is supposed to go between Signs of Love and Love or Confusion. Bet you didn't know I was an old softie, I mean besides not being able to maintain an erection for 4 hours without cocaine.
It has snowed several times this spring and today is raining again heavily. We have been eating quite well from the garden, where the asparagus is getting more lush every year. I planted bok chop, spinach, mizuna, and radishes in the bed this year, and everything is doing really well. Every couple of days, I can cut a meal of spears and entertaining my coworkers with that special smell after urinating.
I continue to rehab my Achillles which I now suspect is going to take at least a year to stopped bothering me. I'm not sure I can afford that year, but my hopeless pataphysical optimism pushed me on, lemming like, toward the precipice of self-improvement.
I started a new job that I can't talk about, and found morels growing at the end of straw mulch put down last fall. I plan to get more straw from the same farmer this year to see if I can spread some of that earlier spring mushrooming around.
We had a pile of bricks and retaining blocks that I dumped in the garden last year that a pair of lizards has taken over. I supposed there are eggs down in the jumble so I'm holding off on moving those bits of concrete until I see evidence that the young ones have hatched.
There is a field of mustard growing around the water storage tanks north of Idiotville that glows in the afternoon.