From room to room, spirit. Today on the Max, I asked to be lifted, and when I opened my eyes I was a flickering feather, as if life were a mere glass that needed only to be polished from time to time.

The beauty of the world is the mouth of a labyrinth. The unwary individual who on entering takes a few steps is soon unable to find the opening. Worn out, with nothing to eat or drink, in the dark, separated from his dear ones, and from everything he loves and is accustomed to, he walks on without knowing anything or hoping anything, incapable even of discovering whether he is really going forward or merely turning round on the same spot. But this affliction is as nothing compared with the danger threatening him. For if he does not lose courage, if he goes on walking, it is absolutely certain that he will finally arrive at the center of the labyrinth. And there God is waiting to eat him.

Lately a shrill timbre. We had an amazing impromptu Schezuan feast at Orland's on Chinese New Year. I made mapo dofu for the first time, and a dish called Ants Creeping Up A Tree (for poetic value, mainly), and Orland made the most delicious eggplant dish I've ever tasted, with long slender Chinese eggplants instead of their fatter relatives, along with plentiful mushrooms, steamed greens, rice, oolong tea, and several bottles of wine. The night collapsed into dancing in the thick of pink fog, floor-crawling, shouting into blinking megaphones, falling over in moon shoes. Nick Jaina did some impressive contact dancing for a very lucky few, including me and my new gelfling friend. So, yes, so very nice through and through.

Soul dancing at the Goodfoot Saturday night. I spent most of the evening dancing solo in a flapper dress, next to this huge fan that blew my dress around. It was cooler than Marilyn. This morning, we finished parsing together our lecture for the Pecha Kucha event, which is slated for tomorrow evening at the Imago Theatre from 7:30 - ?, for those out there who might be interested.

Now I'm at home, bejeweled and well-napped (I was writing on the couch and fell into a long, languorous cat nap with Walter), rose-oiled, skin the hue of teeth, drinking champagne and eating chocolate with lavender and blueberries. The cats are brushed and well-fed, and I have to drift off because this week is very busy, what with a lecture to give, a Pranic healing session Tuesday night, my first psychic class with Petra on Wednesday, and Jason Leonard's 30th birthday party on Thursday night at the Roadside Attraction, w/Nick Jaina, Loch Lomond, et. al.

Allowing the gaze of the intruder.
A lucid brush between rooms.
With one lash of the eyes,
I see either desert or busied utopias.

Life is no longer a cone, it is a sphere.