a revival (with tambourines) is in order

Jodi and Justin and I went to the zoo today. The prior responded poorly to beavers in the basement of the desert (THE BASEMENT OF THE DESERT!), while the latter commented on the conversational fluidity of Midwesterners (and strangers at that). Yours truly flirted with the gorillas--who responded in kind in that bestial splaying-out-of-the-body (so exhibitionist! and in front of the children!!)--and reflected on friendship and blogs, and how a revival (oh-so-Pentacostal in inspiration ) is due. this sabbatical from writing represents disorder, which in church speak amounts to something like "blasphemy" or "falling astray." consider this a proverbial goat slaughter, the subsequent spreading of the beast's lifeblood above the doorway, and a commitment to renewing the hallowed contract between not only myself and my readers, but my quotidian travels and the framing of those voyages in bite-size musings on the interweb. the blog as a writing accountability partner.

i am in an old room. the room that used to have pinkish wallpaper, embossed with tiny vases of mortuary(like) flowers, raised ever so slightly to provide a texture when one would run their hand up and down, and across in a fan-like motion. now the walls are Packers green, trimmed awkwardly at the point where wall meets ceiling. my own photographs grace the walls, including a prized capture of a bike and a menu du jour in an alsatian town. remnants of my sports-crazed years still line the eastern wall and ceiling, the residue reminding me that childhood is never too far off, despite changed tastes. i know i will not stay in this room for long, and perhaps i leave the contradiction of high art and base culture as a means of framing my adolescence when I return older and wiser. these are phases that I ought remember.

a friend of mine invited me today to make a kamikaze soup. his last adventure involved chocolate, beer, and pineapple (if i remember correctly)--those hodgepodge "throw in whatever you got and see if your brother will eat it" kind of concoctions. I like the fact that he still does this, and that it's he that plans to eat it, and not some unsuspecting fraternal victim. i like, too, that I've been invited to partake. these are regressions of the highest order. and they are backslides that keep creepy adulthood in checkmate.

sing allelujia, kiddies, i've been redeemed.