Sergeant's Advice

Dreamed a great one last night. A story character giving out advice. About how I might write the story. He's a soldier. More, actually: a sergeant, respected by the soldiers he leads.

"Come morning, if you find you can stand to read it, you'll know it might be worth making more of." he said.

The sergeant didn't appear...distinct. A cloaked big man standing on hard ground, and shadowed by a great tree overhead. I had the impression he wore armour under that cloak. Of course, he's only partly formed. Just like the story.

Here's the funny thing, though: I haven't recently scribbled anything featuring any sergeant.

Graphikty Truckin'

Couldn't get back to this 'til the day after.

[Whispers] The j-o-b, as always, or seems so.

Lucky, I suppose, busy workdays yesterday and today, that I got to post the prettified truck pic when I did. Can't say what I had in mind, as in comments, to go along with it. Whatever...the thought was gone by day's end.

Suppose I'm making do. As the artist did: found himself a canvas, or wall. Though I thought there was some sorta code, among graffitists, not to illustrate private property. Well, maybe artist and driver of the rolling art shook hands on some deal. Might happen, in a world perfect as this.

Saturday...Half Empty, or Full?

It doesn't feel it, still this is perhaps the most productive first half of any Saturday I've had in weeks.

Usual Saturday morning chores already done. Groceries gotten, and put away. Bills paid, online and effortlessly, and banking records recorded. Laundry's laundered, too, and all the rest of it's no longer in my way: the accumulated domesticana I hadn't time for all this workweek.

Even done, the correspondence not related to Protag, the blog, writin' projects. While the day was young and my head clear, three emails composed and sent to family and one remote friend scattered around the geography.

Still, it doesn't feel totally satisfying, nooo. It feels like desk-clearing, that spent away half the day. Now that I've done the chores part of Saturday, I'm all too aware it is a Saturday. And the sun's out...out there.

Beauty where U Find It...Aw, it's only because I can't abide untitled stuff

I have no idea what to...blog about. Don't especially wanna think. Been thinking all week. Tired of thinking. Tired of work. Wanna write. Play. Go...somewhere. Go nowhere. Don't even wanna jab at that Canada Line, easy tho it'd be to. Or maybe I do.

Spotted more Canada Line hilarity this morning, y'see, returning from grocery shopping along Kent Avenue. Drizzly Saturday. The calm before the return to work storm, I'm antici...pating, after this Labour Day long weekend, when commuters will demonstrate reality. Many of their bus routes simply gone, or re-routed. All those souls being routed to feed this. This unifying snake. Effective on Monday, the only way across the river between two swarms of population. Compelled aboard two-car trains. Now a brain might anticipate, and increase the frequency of rush-time trains: say, from a train every four minutes, to every...two.

I dunno why I'm thinking about that. It's not my job to think about that. I don't want to think about that. I just wanna jab them. Just in passing. Only to sneer about this morning. How this morning says so much about this entire pre-Olympics farce.

Construction signage - flashing sign-boxes: CAMBIE CLOSED - [then some yada yada] - BUSINESS OPEN

I really felt for the delivery van, pulled over at wooden barriers — naturally — at Kent and Cambie, his hazards flashing. When passing traffic had cleared him, the driver hurried out from behind his wheel, dragged aside the barriers. Yesss, some little human mistake. Someone didn't get the message, or didn't think.

And that's enough thinking.
Snapped a little art through the smashed open side of an abandoned building. I liked the stacked pallets as much.