Friday, October 01, 2004

Friday. Drinking black coffee, that's me. Listening to the report of the assault on Samarra. Now listening to reports on Israel's assault on Gaza. And now on a suicide bombing in a mosque in Pakistan.

Hematidines feast on the pigments in crabs blood. Scientists are trying to figure out how they enter the crab.

Why do people make jokes about the viola? Shin Yun Hwong playing the viola now at the Appalachian Summer Festival. A piece for viola and piano.

Playing backgammon. My pieces are brown. I blocked his 7 point spot. White bounced a stone off his 9, I came off the bar and bounced one off my ten. And with a three, I came off my 12 and bounced another off his ten.

A few moves later, and I'm losing. It's nine minutes after I started this entry. The music continues. A red pickup truck passes by my house. My coffee is cooling, half a cup still full.

My National Geographic is open to a photograph of a bar on Bourbon Street.

I lost. Gave him backgammon. The game had lost its zest.

Anyway, I had visited Writers Almanac before pulling up my blog post page. Today's Tim O'Brien's birthday. Has anyone of you ever read or listened to his books? I want to get one, now that I've read his bio and gone to his web page.

Am I depressed again today? And just too inured to being this way to do anything constructive about it? Let me not worry about it. Another warm up on that coffee, before I check my email. Time now, 1020. 19 minutes to do this entry. As I decide to press the publish button, a jay calls out, the locust saws its low pitched buzzing. A cardinal pips.


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