a different kind of blue

yesterday four of us gathered for a massage-o-thon. we are to give 25 and receive 12 by the beginning of december. it is a hard life. at said -thon was someone i worked on near the beginning of school. "you are so much better now!" she said. "this is amazing." my strokes feel right. i am much more confident now... and i fucking LOVE myofascial work. someone last week called me "the friction queen." that shall be the title of my next pornographic feature.
i am home, purposely skipping a meeting at work, watching rain slam sideways into the window. things are going well. i like where my life is drifting.
iconic, seen through the window of the night bus. circa 9pm the streets of downtown seattle turn seedy. i love it. the overhead light of office workers and tourists gives way to the dank kitchen denizens of the night. wet sidewalks help.

last week m and i wandered around like tourists. the moon was full. later that evening i went blues dancing for the first time. it was fun... despite not knowing any steps. a knowledgable partner is paramount.
urban wildlife atop the arches at pacific science center:

he had never been to the sculpture park. so we went. this piece is from 1967. i love reflective pieces- the sculpture becomes a medium for the REAL art of the SURROUNDINGS, or something. like the bean in chicago- that fucking blows my mind- it is a liquid medium in solid form.

inside the smaller spray is a sculpture of a boy with his arms stretched out. this sculpture breaks my heart.

mediocre open-mic...

i have been listening to mitch hedberg in my vehicle. he discusses popular songs that lose their intended message when utilized in certain situations. he starts singing 'we are the world' and says something like "you remember that song? when i fucked you in the pet cemetery?" i keep recalling this at horribly inopportune times. i was at the store and started laughing in the middle of the cat-food aisle.