jazzfish: a black-haired man with a big sword. blood stains the snow behind (Eddard Stark)
[personal profile] jazzfish
Bolivia: "I am thirty three years old and have not once seriously considered moving to Bolivia." (To paraphrase Grant Morrison, this post contains the active ingredient METAPHOR. If you are allergic to METAPHOR, please consult a doctor before consuming this post.)

When the Yogurt Took Over: A Short Story: "WE UNDERSTAND, the yogurt said. WE HOPE YOU HAVE STOCKED UP ON CANNED GOODS." (Inspired by a throwaway line in What I Think About Atlas Shrugged)

The Great European Shouting Match: a bunch of maps of Europe, through the eyes of various European nationalities (plus the gays and the Americans). Hilarious.

I cannot stop watching these dolphins.



I probably make this post every year, but gord it is good to have autumn again. This year has nearly killed me: summer ought not begin in April and end in September. I walked out the door yesterday morning and shivered for the first time in longer than I care to remember. Rain and gentle mist and a chill prickling all down my arms, this is what October should be, and what I've been missing.

I love the cold. The thrill of cool slightly-damp air on my skin in the morning, the shock that reminds me I'm still alive and that's not such a bad thing after all. Scuffly crunchy leaves and visible breath and long coats and light that settles through the air to sharpen and soften the edges of everything.

More than that, though, I've fallen in love with getting warm. A blast of hot air on my feet, a mug of just-shy-of-boiling tea fogging up my glasses, someone to curl up with under a fuzzy blanket, a bath that turns my skin a nice deep pinkish-red. The transition energizes me, I think. Or maybe it's the sense of being (or getting) warmed all through while everything outside is crisp and clean and cool.



Today I'm tired (probably from not having slept more than six hours through in, oh, at least two weeks) and fragile (related to the lack of sleep, among other things) and reading and rereading Fleurs sans mort and wondering why I'm here.

Tell me something awesome about you. I already think you're awesome: you're a friend of mine. I'd like to know what you think is awesome about you. Or just what's kinda neat, or worth mentioning.

Date: 2010-10-06 01:39 am (UTC)
ext_125536: A pink castle on a green hill against a black background. A crescent moon above. (Default)
From: [identity profile] nixve.livejournal.com
For me, I've frequently visited other countries near Bolivia. As far as I can tell most of the cultural, emotional and physical benefits to living in Bolivia that appeal to me can be found just as easily in those other countries. However, having lived near Bolivia I do have to say that there are times when I wonder if the hassle of moving to Bolivia and making a life there might be worth the benefits. I'm not really sure, though, but I don't have any burning desire to figure it out.

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Adventures in Mamboland

"Jazz Fish, a saxophone playing wanderer, finds himself in Mamboland at a critical phase in his life." --Howie Green, on his book Jazz Fish Zen

Yeah. That sounds about right.

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