Should've died when I had the chance...'cause it's beginning to hurt now...

All of a summer's day

...something reminded me of the 'Bohemian Rhapsody'

`You may not have lived much under the sea--' (`I haven't,' said Alice)-- `and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster--' (Alice began to say `I once tasted--' but checked herself hastily, and said `No, never') `--so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is!'

`No, indeed,' said Alice. `What sort of a dance is it?'

`Why,' said the Gryphon, `you first form into a line along the sea-shore--'

`Two lines!' cried the Mock Turtle. `Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on; then, when you've cleared all the jelly-fish out of the way--'

`That generally takes some time,' interrupted the Gryphon.

`--you advance twice--'

`Each with a lobster as a partner!' cried the Gryphon.

`Of course,' the Mock Turtle said: `advance twice, set to partners--'

`--change lobsters, and retire in same order,' continued the Gryphon.

`Then, you know,' the Mock Turtle went on, `you throw the--'

`The lobsters!' shouted the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.

`--as far out to sea as you can--'

`Swim after them!' screamed the Gryphon.

`Turn a somersault in the sea!' cried the Mock Turtle, capering wildly about.

`Change lobster's again!' yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice.

`Back to land again, and that's all the first figure,' said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his

voice; and the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at Alice.

`It must be a very pretty dance'...

Nothing to be done.

Spring

As spring creeps up the drain pipe, I see the air filled with butterflies...blue and black...spiralling in pairs, a frenzy of nervous energy...

I spot a pupa on the new-born leaves of my Ashoka, as I help it shed its old weight, plucking off dead leaves...

and a couple makes love in the shadows of the neem, as the last of Danae's
gold showers upon them...

spring is here, it seems.

Meanwhile, I have begun cultivating obsessions...

...Paper Butterflies!

Clogged

1) Woe is me!

2) I am/have been/will be suffering from what them people call THE 'Writer's block'. Gasp! (Yes, I presume I am a writer, I speculate not on the quality of my produce...pssst!!...somebody praise me...please!!)

3) I have been desperate enough to seek a cure. (Oh! the agony and shame of a public confessional...what the heck! you/we/I are all voyeurs)

4) Some one (i name not who) suggests I seek hypno-therapy. Exciting! Very...Though I'm chary about disclosing my super-secret plans on how to unleash a lesbian democracy.

5) I think I'll pass.

6) Here are the more mundane of the cures... One. B. Omega

7) Here's what I liked. Translate a random poem, from a foreign language into English. Start a Journal (I have the perfect little red journal-looking-journal for this!). Take a hike. Take pictures. Flip through old pictures. Watch foreign pictures. Flirt (Yeah, sure! If it helps with the blockage...I'll sign up for a harem). Meditate (ugh!)

23) If by the end of this I am unable to produce some fancy-schmaltzy piece of ecriture...then I'll...Pout. Plagiarize. Shut Blog. Write Limericks. Sell Lemonade. Stalk dogs. Kill ants. Tell fortunes. Sing in DTC buses. and bury myself somewhere...do you care?

50) Let the unclogging begin...