It is with great pleasure...

I feel bad that I haven't blogged in so long. This doesn't help me blog more, perhaps less. Today, I cover as much ground in one day as I did in all of august & I will blog twice, just for you, little cleos, though you've probably stopped stopping by. If it matters, if you've been expecting/wanting more, I apologize.

A while ago there had been some talk in other Eugene blogs about the slothful attitude of most Eugene bloggers to which I counter: but are not we all potheads, which I know isn't a good point at all seeing as how the majority of eugene bloggers, myself included, which I know aren't potheads at all, which isn't to say they're functioning, they're just not smoking.

In regards to functions: that's where a lot of my time has been devoted lately. To functions. Javascript & bodily.

i/r/t the body: I've been offagain/onagain sick for two weeks now.

i/r/t to an idea of how often an author should blog & how she should be critiqued due to her promptness in blogging: if I wanted quality material to come to me on a schedule that I could set clocks to I'd subscribe to some choice magazines, perhaps a literary journal or two & a few usenet groups. I too am in the camp of bloggees who, after skipping o'er to their favourite weblog only to find it hasn't been updated in a week (or in cleopatra's nose case, a month), are disappointed but I also realise that my e-migos out there, well they ain't blogging strictly for me. Blogs mean different things to different people, but you won't find me flying remote-controlled airplanes into certain blogger's homes for not keeping up with my appetite.

i/r/t my appetite: [excerpt from unpublished entry, thus the reiteration of themes touched on in the My Monday's Best blog]: I'm insatiable. It takes nearly nothing to get me going - that's how on the prowl I am. The smallest branch broken, the quietest breath taken in, & I'm at the throat with bare teeth, I'm snapping arms just above the elbow. I'm doing all of this as I'm half-smiling & nodding with disinterest.Patience is so thin right now, which is quite the rarity with me. I'm just so sick with things right now, I'm sick of counter clerks getting their only satisfaction from life through selling me that which kills me, I'm sick of watching people become hippies, I'm sick of hearing about what we should be doing differently, I'm sick of people who get far less than their just deserts & yet still far more. So I'm on the hunt suckers. I'm a cataloging machine, recording aberrations & hypocrisies. I'm consuming everything in my path like a freakin' snake or a cutsey-whutsey chipmunk, stockpiling it all until a time...

i/r/t unpublished entries: I have shoeboxes full of unsent letters likewise I have cluttered server space full of unpublished entries.

Which leads us back to the beginning: how not blogging for awhile actually makes it harder to blog. 'Cause I have been, I almost nearly always am, writing: blog, letter, fictional, biographical: it's all the same here. But the more time that passes the harder it is to jump back in because I for some reason feel that before I jump back into it I should do some explaining. But I don't feel like explaining, just please don't fly any remote-controlled airplanes into my home.