All up ons / swansong time

I guess that assumes I'm a swan, but swans are nasty birds. When I was a gardener in Upperville for a summer or two, when at least I remember things being greener and requiring less paperwork, we had a mated pair of male swans who would, as avocation and exercise both, chase us and the geese and the children. One or the other of these fags would pivot its big stupid wings up into Delorean mode, wrap itself in its lilywhite feather boa and power down upon your person. The swans' dubious sexuality's all on hearsay, since I never attempted to sex them nor do I know how you go about doing that. A bird has a cloaca, I think, which is a word that means sewer in Latin. I think their names were Gary and Gary and they had matching haircuts (a jheri curl each)


LAST DAY OF WORK is May 11 for me, and a few days after that I pack up and leave Charlottesville and Reichstag and so forth behind for good, so far as I know. In a rather corporate vein, I'm thinking of tics and habits better left here; Baton Rouge is a daunting catholic concept since I feel pretty finely-tuned to Charlottesville by now, and Charlottesville will shake your hand with cold-fish Protestant apprehension, that of a world-weary burgher

CVL DANCE SUNDAY

Somewhere during the run of the last three or so jumpy years the Kids all congressed and decided that dancing was ideal and more fundamentally, fun; in light of sarcasm's dramatic loss of value- so great a loss that bitter people everywhere were to be found panhandling in the street, and spitting- the Kids decided that earnestness would best secure their cred and not-quite-deo-gratia keep them riding high and dirty atop a (frankly) feudal hierarchy. Also smiling is nice, said They;

ok 'feudal' is a little much and a little bitter. I've got a month left and that's a little bitter too, and there's nothing to lose in these little narratives to explain the mysterious explosion in public unrestrained revolutionary bouts of hoooooooo LARGE LOVE. Dance parties cost a lot. Perhaps it's philanthropy, in the same strained way as I can only justify spending my days as a florist by casting it as an exercise in sculpture.