meaty

so grep tells me i haven't told you about f. paul pacult's kindred spirits 2. (sorry about that.) get it, read it, use it and understand that pacult's tongue is made of unicorns stuffed with sparkles and glowing rainbows and what it tells him and us is not only precisely true but mind-expanding. any time this man's tongue (and nose) spends doing anything other than divining the notes of alcohol is a moment savagely wasted.

thank you, grep.

thinking about how i wish i had mailed guns, germs, and steel back instead of the adapted mind.

looking forward to getting back tomorrow and having white or green tea with t. my own palate has been feeling so alone for the past three weeks it wants to cry.

last day in the city and i'm going to take it a little easy so mah little toe's blisters can scab up a bit.
i think, anyway. we'll see.

wonderful high horny dreams in line with what little i remember from ambien tripping make me want to go back to sleep. too bad the couch here would kill me.