Gathering moss

I type these words from a keyboard resting about a meter above the volcanic, shifting earth of the Japanese archipelago. That is to say, I blew off my somewhat redundant USA trip at the eleventh hour. I blame the seismic temporal collision of the insane pace of late ought-five with the idleness of a freshly-born new year. That latter toddler reminded me of my mellower days, where meditation and the printed word (be it on paper or celluloid) took precendence over bars and late nights, every third one being spent in a different bed in a different city.

So I've hung up my dancing shoes for now. I'll blow the dust off my mind, turning it over and over as I sit on my zabuton, still.

On the turntable: Taj Mahal, "Recycling the Blues"
On the nighttable: Bruce Chatwin, "What Am I Doing Here"