Hydrating

Riding High
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

This is not the northwest aux Etats-Unis. Nor is it the fabled isle of the snaggle toothed. So what gives? The rain is falling faster than a meth addict on rollerskates and the ten day forecast is one big Zoloft-less frown. It looks like a waterlogged raindrop.

I guess this calls for a creative solution; a new color palette pleading ignorance or blindness or some rare skin disease causing a perma-rift between itself and all things tangible. Yes, that sounds like just what the under-DEA-surveillance doctor ordered. Amen. And with refills.

I call it my NYCing Maine plan. And yeah, I may call it that, but you can bet your sweet little ass it's got a call list all it's own. Baby's list of demands is impossibly long not like legs but like the wish list of consumption's obese guinea pig just back from Milano. (It makes you think thrice before coddling.) So heed these words of mighty caution, my mighty friend: I stopped after round two and now I find myself assembling a toolbox of internet radio programs and stations and Canal Street trinkets and subway photographs just to get to the tail end of this wasteland of lighthouse moose madness.

But by all measures, things could be worse. Much worse. And they would be worse if not for this Japanese newsprint. It stares at me through a thin coat of white acrylic and smiles. And as I prepare to drool, it reminds me to save some for the whales because they get thirsty too.