on its way out

i hear the mangos are going out of season.
and it singapore its not even considered the king.

so we're at the sunset lap of this fateful weblog, with just one
meditating musketeer in the wild infinitudes of the motherland.
there's a lot to catch up upon, personally and pubicly, and i'll be
damned if i do it now.

yoyo ma is yodling thanks to brasil (in the other room) and i'm
recovering from a reintroduction to gasoline, consumer culture, social
drinking, (they might as well be) naked women, and free internet.

and the land, the gorgeous infinite depths of beauty of the land. of
my own barn -- collapsing in on itself with a universal right. i can
feel the pull, the energy that drew me here. and now, three days
later, i'm almost ready to flee.