All day long I've been thinking about the feeling of getting a tattoo, and how much I miss it. It probably has something to do with the fact that my mom is coming to visit, and both of the tattoos I've gotten so far were:

a) a day that my mom left town, right after dropping her off at the airport, and
b) while my mom was visiting, in my kitchen, and she even helped draw the tattoo! :-)

The next tattoo that I want to get, methinks, is a series of bubbles going up the spine, from out of the sea grass, which is sprouting from the seed at the base. My love of bubbles knows no bounds.

Last night at the Evangenitals show at Tre Stage audience members blew bubbles during Quee Queg. Words cannot describe the beauty and happiness I feel watching bubbles waft by, illuminated by the lights, during that song. It is a slice of heavenly heaven on the heaven that is earth, every time.

In other news...

This is an old piece of writing from my 'ol play [or, the whale] that has been on my mind tonight, due to the bubble theme of the past 24 hours. I hope you enjoy it.


In the final moment,
when the day is done,
when the captain becomes one,
when it’s all complete,
and he turns into himself,
he turns into himself,
that is to say,
in the end,
a perfect moment,
pure light,
a clean world,
a complete man,
a floating globe,
a temporary eternity,
the starting point,
beginning of all geometry,
such a clean world,
even if it only lasts for a second,
'tis long enough,
for mine eyes have seen,
at the perfect moment,
a point of light,
on the horizon,
a clean world,
completely transparent,
as is everything,
as is it all,
alter of other,
either or whether,
before or before,
sink or swim,
to burst inward,
to undergo violent compression,
to collapse inward
as if from external pressure,
the act or action
of bringing to
[or]
as if to
a center;
integration.

And in the final moment,
all you are is all you were,
you remember.
And memory is nothing but air,
and all you are.

(Copywright 2001, excerpted from [or, the whale] by Juli Crockett)