proxy zen

i finished 'my lobotomy', 'service included', and 'grand central winter'; i also reread part of 'ramona and her father' at the burien value village. i forgot about the part where they decided to draw the largest picture in the world, so they taped paper to the kitchen floor and drew oregon. he started with mount hood, she drew the bridge between vancouver and portland.
i need to properly revisit those books. the earlier stories (see: otis spofford) are jaw-droppingly racist, but overall, i fucking love beverly cleary.
"for an addict, it's eden or nothing." -lee stringer, 'grand central winter'
the veteran's memorial cemetery off aurora.

queen anne last week. my lair might be in there somewhere.

said lair on a sunnier morrow.

and the triumphantly minimal evidence of tipsily painting...

i finally got the proper paperwork to continue volunteering at bailey-boushay. i have to live by my prosthlytizing, which i am aware i did not spell correctly, or else i feel funky and soiled... so it's been a happy day.
en route to bailey i saw this in a yard.

downtown, after.







this month's proust questionnaire is with taki, the longterm columnist for britain's 'the spectator'. how would he like to die? "give the last seat on the last lifeboat to a beautiful young girl, then go to the first-class lounge for a final drink."