This was a status on Facebook (yes, aren't you glad you're not friends with me?), but I haven't posted in a while, so I figured I'd throw this up here. I"m thinking of scrapping this blog and starting a new one, with a specific topic in mind. This, once again, seems to have run its course. Ahhh, a balmy Monday morning in Ithaca. Sunday's trash, which has been sitting on the sidewalk for 18 hours, still sits, rummaged through by nocturnal creatures that stand on both two and four legs. The sullen dog owner across the street must be done with his chore of owning, yes owning, his pet. The forecast calls for heat and humidity, which should bring chants of a second summer. As poets and their prose counterparts write tales, with their thinly veiled allusions to a return to the womb. Mother replaces the youth they lust for, or vice versa, depending on their audience. The delusions of mass acceptance, more important than the words. I sit, with hot food and cool ...