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I worship the most succulent, green goddess of all fruits… More silly avocado pictures.

My fourth client tonight told me she was psyched to get a massage from me, ‘cuz my last client was so sleepily ebullient on the way out-he told her he’d just had the BEST MASSAGE EVER!

Hee. As I was giving him said fabulous massage he said(after apologizing for snorting himself awake) next time he was going to book me for the last appointment of the evening, so he could go home and go to sleep after.

‘cuz it seems to be screeching and flopping about on the wrong side of reality tonight.

Or maybe it’s that moon, almost full, round as an eyeball, staring at me. Vexed by it’s blank innocence, I’m wondering, what the hell is it for, this chemical maelstrom swirling in my head tonight?-did some ancient, cruel, preadolescent gods get tired of pulling the wings off prehistoric flies and turn to humankind(shuffling sleepily out of their caves and scratching their unsuspecting, hairy, troglodyte scalps)… Do we amuse them still? Pricking the arrows of love hither and yon, matching us so perfectly, yet so cleverly not- off just a hair, just a puny, impossibly itchy, erratic, hairsbreadth that somehow ruins it all.

And still, even forewarned, lessons earned and learned, still the twitching, twanging, stupid, plangent pulse of love rings louder than any sensible suggestion or hardwon wisdom ever could.

Chocolate/raspberry/creamcheese sandwiches.

Innovative and inspired-if I do say so myself.

Just the thing after three hours of blasting cannons and blustering pirates.

Sam says I should tell y’all how to make ‘em:

Step one: Get home to a nearly empty fridge with a hungry 9 year old boy.

Step two: Bluster about, pulling stuff out of the fridge(slamming things down and yelling ‘YOHO, me hearties! or ‘Back, scurvy bilgerats!’ is highly recommended here).

Step three: Locate a slice of bread amongst the flotsam, liberally schmear it with cream cheese.

Step four: Find some sort of chocolate(chips are fine). Load up another slice with the chips and set in toaster oven. Make sure the oven is on toast, or smoke and charcoal will ensue-while this may be a great pirate effect, it is not so great for snackses.

Step five: When chocolate is all gooey, pile fresh raspberries on top of the cream cheese slice and smash the chocolate slice down on top.

Step six: Devour!

Made this illustration recently for a friend’s awesome dance workshop.

These poor guys fall over at the slightest hint of excitement… Maybe they’re related to possums?

Wouldn’t last a minute on the serengeti-can you imagine the astonished laughter of the hyenas when they all fall over like ninepins before the chase even begins?

Humans breed animals for the wierdest reasons.

My thanks to the funniest Asshole on the web for the link.

Today, I took my horde to the superultrasecret ropeswing hideaway I discovered.

We rocked the forest so loud, passersby on the nearby Burke Gilman began to filter through the mucky forest to investigate. Darn it, I’ll have to boobytrap it better. Maybe a pit trap, or alligators… And, damnit, I plumb forgot to swear everyone to secrecy on the pain of dismemberment-or loss of Strongbad priviledges(a much harsher sentence, with this crowd).

Ah well, I could hardly trust an oath from such a scurvy bunch of pirates, could I?

More pics of our adventure here.

I’m devouring Murakami books nowadays-amazing writer that he is.

Finally finished ‘Kafka by the Shore’ with all it’s amazing twists and turns, dangerous sexual liaisons and bizarre, magical wisdom. Plunged through ‘South of the Border, West of the Sun’, snacked on his short stories in ‘After the Quake’ and now ‘Sputnik Sweetheart’ is thrilling and chilling me through the moon-lapped night…

Such thoughtful, funny, poetic writing but at the same time disturbing as hell, raw, often horribly violent and even grotesque as it lurches about awkwardly, painfully, beautifully-just like life. Murakami has a tender way of making heroes out of stinky, ordinary people and always brings up way more questions than he ever, ever meanders and slithers his way around to answering.

‘What I’m getting at is that people have to come up with a clever strategy if they want what they know and what they don’t know to live together in peace. And that strategy-yep, you’ve got it-is thinking. We have to find a secure anchor. Otherwise, no mistake about it, we’re on an awful collision course.‘

and this, I love this one(such self-revealing words spilling from the floppy disk of his character, a young woman writer who has vanished mysteriously-as his women so often do):

‘Did you ever see someone shot by a gun without bleeding?
Which explains my own stance as a writer. I think-in a very ordinary way-and reach a point where, in a realm I cannot even give a name to, I conceive a dream, a sightless fetus called understanding, floating in the universal, overwhelming amniotic fluid of incomprehension. Which must be why my novels are absurdly long and, up until now at least, never reach a proper conclusion. The technical, and moral, skills needed to maintain a supply line on that scale are beyond me.’

Both excerpts are from ‘Sputnik Sweetheart’. I can’t wait to find out how it ends… May end up staying up all night reading.

Goddamn I wish I could discuss them with my own vanished sweetheart. He understands only too well the sum of our misunderstandings.

Brilliance, sheer brilliance. I’m so glad he’s a prolific writer-though I fear he’s outmatched by my voracious appetite.

I’d buy both of these beautiful books.

Sigh.