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Thank you, as always.

The wave comes crashing our way from the moment we’re born.

I'm going to need a bigger spoon. Maybe a bucket.

Re: Thank you, as always.

Or a surfboard.

Oh Joe. You should come here and threaten to murder my kid. She will love you so much. She is my daughter after all.

Will be happy to make the threat in person one of these days.

II am currently bouncing off the walls at the very thought.

I got a spare dry cleaning bag if you want it. ;-)

What a gorgeous entry. Deserving of publication fer sure.

Aww, you flatterer, you.

There is an "old-fashioned" Tastee-Freez a couple towns down the highway from me, with the glass-enclosed front like you describe. They have the best milkshakes and greasy hamburgers and 99 cent scrapple sandwiches I've ever eaten. I don't know how much longer it'll be there, now that the trend of having every town look the same has found its way down here.

I also love the fact that you're shaping (warping?) young minds. I think they ought to have a re-birth of Romper Room and make you the new Miss Sally. I'm totally serious.

Will visit that Tastee-Freez soon, I hope.

Speaking of the young minds warping—keep an eye on my LJ...

My favorite detail is how Cora was apparently unfazed by meat grinders, rotting in Astroturf, or ants on her ice cream, but you eating ants? THAT is gross.

THAT is childhood. :)

Kids are aliens, aren't they?

Even when I can sort of remember the processes...


That blue.. I KNOW that blue!

I tell ya, it's a magic thing.

This prose puts you just behind drood as my second-favorite writer on lj.

It's a fantastic story, rich in texture and meanings and life. Thanks so much for sharing it.


You're welcome, and I can't think of a better writer to follow.

It was meant as extremely high praise.


Take me now.

I mean, thank you. Perfect, once again.

You're welcome, and thank you, too.

It is a good question.

All through the glance and bitter of our day-to-day lives the sky still sits there, patiently passing through the spectrum right about our heads. No one ever looks up anymore, but when we do, for just a single moment, everything is perfect.

Thanks for the reminder.

This is why I like to read what you write: the juxtaposition between the beautiful moment threatening to kill your nieces while on a trip for ice-cream while thinking of hundreds of families that have been separated and ruined, having lost members if not property... It's horrifying, and it is beautiful and bittersweet all at the same time.

I would pay to read this. (even though I didn't)

Thanks. That's the balance I aim for, more by instinct than intention.

(Deleted comment)
I've looked up a few times, but only at night. Not much to see then. Just a few far away stars and the occassional jet flying overhead.

Then why do I do it?

I guess to remind me that the world that I live in, the space that I occupy in this vast universe, is very tiny. It's humbling and I think everybody needs that once in a while.

It's either that or I'm just checking to see if something is falling down from the sky, hurtling towards me, and making that space that I occupy, that's much smaller, by squishing me into a little spot on the earth.

Anything that keeps us looking up, I think.

Awesome writing, as usual!


Love how you paint a picture. ;) Tres Bon, my friend.


Re: Awesome writing, as usual!

Thankya most kindly.

This is what I was talking to you about the other day, luv. That ability to *see* the beauty in the very breath of living. You, my dear, are brilliantly gifted and wonderfully loved.

And now I want a vanilla cone.

That blue stabs at the heart as it soothes it, doesn't it? That's joy for you.

ah man,
that is pure heaven

beautiful Joe, beautiful

licking an ice cream cone and listening to the zippery song of the fading insects of summer.

what fabulous nouns and adjectives.Amazing.

thank you,this was right on.

Great entry Joe.

you know you never took us up on that dinner.

briarhill pointed me over here, and I am adding you to my LJ-list (unless you mind) because your writing is joy. Another humble thank you from me.

You're welcome, and welcome aboard!

A childhood fascination with disaster may be a harbinger of literary aspirations. Among my favorite stories when I was a child were my mother's tales of the St. Francis Dam collapse and the Long Beach earthquake. My favorite movie was "San Francisco," which I had seen in a theatrical re-release at the age of six. I was caught up in the drama of these events, but I recall also experiencing a deep sadness, as of a nostalgia for the vanished worlds which I had never even seen. I've come to suspect that the impulse to write is in some way related to an early awareness of the transience of things. Many writers are people who suffered some deep personal loss in youth. Great public disasters may have a similar effect of arousing the latent desire-- to arrest with words the world's decay-- in those of us who didn't endure such personal losses.

More common ground. I'm glad it's not just me...

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