Alive

'Allo, Son readers, from beyond the pale and illuminated page. I'm sorry you've had to settle for fresher blog takes on The Madness from others who do nothing but -- but I am just coming out of some kind of sick bug semi-coma which was punctuated by many violent body fluid emissions and endless HBO movies serving as background hum while I laid moaning on the coach under covers. Plus, I've been working on a mega-Iraq-America post, a thing that keeps growing & going into all manner of moods, anguish and cheap observations, for when I think I've finished it, more bullshit emerges and so into the mega-post it goes. Dunno if this is my White Album/Smile/Tommy/Sandinista!, but many hours have been spent in the studio, my beard gets longer, showers are eschewed, and the voices in my head collide and crash and tell me to keep going, that I haven't yet reached the end. So that continues.

And it's Xmas time, and I have shopping to do in the next few days, and today I'm going on a day-long field trip with my son's class to the state capitol to see how this crazy local system supposedly works. So I'm swamped. But back into the studio I soon go, and hopefully I'll emerge with my war opera, sung by cracked voices in the driving snow, the orchestra knocked over by frigid winds.