If I say it's safe to surf this beach, Captain, then it's safe to surf this beach!

In the form of gardenias . . .

Remember Apocalypse Now? Kilgore says, "you either surf or you fight." Fucking Kilgore. What a ham . . . Kurtz would have been interested in him, but wouldn't've taken him on board. He was too ostentatious, too showy. Fuck off, Kilgore. Leave me alone. Go away. Go surf.

~~~~~~~

With no forwarding address to trace them.

Talked the other day with dear sister Karyn. About The Road, mostly - she just read it. We also talked about the house we spent our childhood in. A beautiful, architecturally nourishing space; a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle, put together just so. Her bedroom, we reminisced, fearlessly explored a powerful Raggedy Ann motif. Mine had fuzzy-animal wallpaper.

~~~~~~~

A note on fame.

I listen and read, and I have to ask - who cannot relate to Britney Spears's situation? Compassless and wild, she's trying to break out of her machine. She's at last becoming interesting, no longer just amusing or entertaining. A cartoonish, real-time morality play is being acted out through her. It'll probably use her up before it's done - it maybe already has - and it seems reckless to unheed it's warning and graceless to mock her example.