28 days of phrase.

the old man is snoring. outside, his tears are falling from the sky and dampening our dirt - sand, whatever. i got sick this week and that slowed me down. i missed a few days at this, and then i started playing catchup with everything else. saturday is a good day for pancakes with the family and stillness. silence, but for the pooling of rain on grounds that cannot hold it. my world is at peace.

despite high competition from the first season of Friday Night Lights, i buttoned up the a chapter called 'the origin of appetite' in Lewis Hyde's "Trickster." We followed the "Trickster" through ancient mythology. Our mediator between the god's and man, He consistently used craftiness to steal particles from them (ie, fire) and hand them to us. He knows where the fat is and where the meat is. He ruffles feathers by taking the line of culture and eating the essentials right off, leaving the dangling, vacant hook. He knows his appetite. He hungers, like all vessels for rich food at premium costs, but he curbs it, because he's seen the power of the cavernous belly. He eats delicately to avoid the snare of desire and leaves the rest. He's been the glutton. His intestines grew accordingly to house nine miles worth of portion, they wrapped around him like a noose. so he knows his borders. He's like Jesse James. He knows when to get in, and get out.

it's a subtle awakening. a wake up call to assessment. What owns me, due to my allegiance by consumption? i'd like to pretend i never wrote that and go with my rainy saturday afternoon. after all, we are at peace here in cardiff, ca. but, who then, will be responsible for the levity of their thoughts?