Creative Languor
Hot.
Right here in Houston City, "Horse Latitudes."
You remember that term. Think 16th century sailing ships, alert for gold and glory from the new world, stalled dead in the Atlantic for lack of wind, lime-chewing Herman Melville fans withering under brutal radiation for lack of motivation to twist a limp sail rope round his neck for mercy.
I sense a general "blah" in the blog community.
Malaise might stem from the disappointing cycle of online semi- relationships, always ending in utter destruction, as if mice and broadband could possibly compare with one of those incredibly tasty Schlotsky's lunch pizzas.
Get cute, get serious, offend, laugh it off, copy a YouTube, steal a photograph, Crystal Gayle down River Road, actress contests, tennis stars. Variable avatar images and moods.
So I beg of you, post desperately any fragment of desire. Hold nothing back.
Your best attempt doesn't change the fact no eggs reside in your refrigerator.
Thursday wisdom comes first to those who seek truth in ruing a clever admixture of coffee beans, haplessly combined into sensual delight, recipe never to be successfully recreated.
Let's talk about success.
I have made, through a land-line phone no less, THREE appointments for July: dentist, optometrist, vet specialist. This means I will be able to grind polished teeth in clear focus at images of canine heart ultra-sounds.
"Ultra-sound." I distrust any term containing "ultra."