The light is so deep and the pool is so cool and the birds are so chirpy and the lizards are so slinky and the cats are so angry, because I had the carpets cleaned today. It’s been what, eight years? I figured it was time. And I washed my car. And dusted my windowsills. And I had a fierce swim, and I answered all of my email, and shipped books, and damn, it’s not yet noon and I could really knock off for the day and hold my head high.
What this yard needs is an Andre Broessel solar globe, collecting sunlight and moonlight, and making electricity. I don’t even need a tracking globe here, it can simply sit on a tall pole or on the roof of an arbor and be my everything.
It’s sculpture; it can make more electricity than three of me could eat.
I’d like wine with lunch, and a nap with my lover. The nap is a must, lover or no, because I’ve got a ticket to see Richard Butler and the Psychedelic Furs tonight at the Rialto, and if I’m going to get up with the sun and stay up with the stars I must sleep while the heat blazes. Today the forecast is for 106, tomorrow 108, perfectly dry.
I’m looking forward to the show. I’ve seen Richard twice, I believe (God knows, it could have been three) but not with the Furs either time. Richard Butler’s voice breaks my heart. Especially when it’s really thrashed and he wears his single strand of pearls.
This is what most people have heard:
she doesn’t have anything you want to steal
(well nothing you can touch )
she waves , she buttons your shirt
the traffic is waiting outside
But this is what I’m in it for:
swallow all your tears, my love
put on your new face
you can never win or lose
if you don’t run the race