November 2012

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Red

Does this ever happen to you, this kind of repetition? I picked the hubster up from work last night, our weekly gig, his break from bicycle commuting and the sporting of all that gear. We had a dinner on the muy delicioso side, at one of our favorite places, where I order the Guacamole Tostadas every single time, crunchy, cheesy, and warm. We did mix it up with a little something new for the hubster, and left very satisfied. I snapped these two photos on our way home, not intending for this bit of commonality. This red. I kinda like it.

And more red, my book. The little flock is dispersing to the four winds, to other homes, other hot hands. The thought makes me squeal with delight one moment and nearly retch with fear the next. Please, let them like it, understand it, be kind to it, love it for its quirk and honesty and pluck.

Then I remember yesterday’s Bukowski and that “ride straight to perfect laughter.” Let them do what they will. Me? I’m going all the way!

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Flame

If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery — isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is.

Charles Bukowski

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Earlier

We eat at Boke Bowl, a high-ceilinged wonder dedicated to Japanese cuisine.

Shrimp Ramen Noodle bowl.

Pea Salad, one of the best salads, period.

Ominous clouds over dry pavement and the thrum of the masses,

homeward bound.

Water Avenue Coffee, but not for us, not that night.

Art for whizzing trains and ivy climbers.

Like a secret, meant for us all.

On which side of the tracks do we lie?

Light my world, the night, a brick wall.

Heading north.

I will roll my ankle on shattered glass while singing the praises of their Mortadella.

Said emphatically, like a Roman on a scooter!

Nibble on Whiffie Pies, chocolate coconut and mixed berry.

All before a drop falls and we head home.

Happy.

 

 

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Fashionable?!

It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when you can’t help it.

Oscar Wilde

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