I haven't written much lately, because, well, I just haven't been writing at all. My satellite notebooks have mostly ideas for art pieces, scribbles of things I hear in lectures, This American Life, books, conversations. The rain started tonight at about 9:45 pm, and as heavy as the grey is it still is nice to be able to see the Sierra Nevadas covered in snow. I have a secret snow chant that I say on my way to work everyday. I need more frost in my life.
Here's some snippets from my verbage collection as of late:

-objects have lives, they are witness to things.
-it feels odd to be full of to-be-ness at this age.
-I had a dream that I was going to make a dictionary of funny, it would categorize everything that is funny and ever once was funny and when to use it for maximum funny.
-If I could hit your blimp, pop your ego like a zit.
-art supplies; white yarn, clear acrylic, cardboard, new box cutter blade, tumbleweeds, personal mythology-and then I was smoke.
-The culturally horrific made glorious.aka toddlers and tiaras
- are you preparing your body for eternal life?
-collecting upon yourself, topography