Thursday, September 07, 2006


It's the dog days for the kitties - they've just been lying around like piles of mud, poised uninterestingly, and not even snoring. Sabaki suggested outsourcing and the Forest Spider volunteered to host this Bedlamite Disbursement of Explanatory Factoids, undermining the Will of the Paper, and in Support of Stochastic Capitalization.

(I've been reading Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon, a wildly entertaining romp delving into the Cleaving of the Subjunctive by the Precision Apparati of Astronomy. And seemingly Random Capitalization. I recommend the Book Highly.)

Stepping back into less selfconsciousness, like something more comfortable help yourself to a drink, there's inevitably the sheer exploratory delight to be found in the Friday Ark, this one styled 103, held most regularly in that user friendly space Modulator.

Meanwhile, this week, in the I-never-met-a-U-joint-I-didn-'t-like never-never-land of the Carnival of the Cats, we find (by groping around in the dark little box) why it's #129, perched skillfully within the future of Begin Each Day As If It Were on Purpose.

Hmm, I'm with Poe on this one:

With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion.

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