The Bridge of Smoke

Had not voyaged on the SS s. div.in months, perhaps since January. This afternoon partook of a single wee toke. Immediately the world became segmented like an orange and peeled itself back to reveal numerous umbrella-like structures of green and red lights twisting off gently into a dark singularity. Said structures inverted and re-emerged then closed down on top of my head like a collapsing silk tent, as birdsong through the open den window became alarmingly voluminous, evoking at first breaking glass, then windchimes, then whale song. I noted pockets of residual tension in my neck and back and began stretching the old bones and trying to relax before settling into a good session of zazen. Now I'm at work reading and putting up with Assburger. Earlier Eskimo was on the warpath, but she left after an hour-long harangue.

Tomorrow morning Cha and I are driving up to Manhattan for a couple days. We haven't seen Leesha and Big Red's swanky new digs yet, nor have we taken advantage of their guest bedroom. Since Big Red has finished his Roger Waters tour project, I feel confortable mooching. Look forward to seeing them and Chalupa.

Don't have any big plans--perhaps the Frick, perhaps the Guggenheim, maybe the Neue. Mostly I want to walk around and eat. And drink beer.