Where I've been

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in"
I shuffle into the back of the blogosphere, collar up as if splayed across a neighborhood watch sign, and sit down. Wooden foldout screeching a protest and shifting slightly to the right as I sit on empty air and crash to the floor causing a disturbance that draws no eyes from the empty room.

"Maybe you should've written or something before taking off."

"Are you mad?" I ask

"Not really, I've dealt with abandonment in the past." cleaning a mug.

I don't really want to talk about it. This is too hard so I'm going to take it easy, maybe kick my feet up. You see: I've been breathing the salty sea air on whaling missions and traveling across the globe in hot air balloons. and if I haven't been doing that then I certainly have been treking, somnambulant, across the vast landscapes of music and writing. Consuming. Consuming more than one might ever have thought possible. You, blog, are my bucket. It's about time to purge myself of this, this, this what?

This great corpulence. My belly has grown and I have popped through to the other side of my taste like pushing a finger through an opaque plastic trashbag. I find myself gravitating to the thick sounds of Jazz and funk and hip-hop and Kraut more than I find myself gravitating to the corpuscles of indie-pop that so many blogs have smitten themselves with, like licking the barnacles on the bottom of a ship. Why? Why?

It boggles me to jumbles.

I will share with you.

Pharoah Sanders - The Creator Has A Master Plan