Like i said, "Clutter is Utter Global"

I've been in transit, the last five hours. That is, I've been asleep, in bed, catching up after an all-nighter meeting a Gunk performance grant deadline. Who knows where I'd been--Asia, the Pyrenees, Crested Butte peak, kindergarten cloakroom--cuz the slam of a check (!) into my mailbox by the letter carrier (nongender specific) sent me hurtling out of the latest dreamscape of subconscious choice. Quite quickly. And I've lost the flavor of the dream, the map of its location. Damn forgot it.

So now I'm in my favorite state of consciousness--hypnopompic--at 6:24pm on a Saturday, and am reluctant to exit this post-sleep stupor. Except to, perhaps, join the masses enjoying gorgeous winds and climate on rugby fields, city parks, and barbecue grill backyard decks. I would, however, simply launch a kite. Like rooftop Buddhist monks, between chanting sessions, in Kathmandu.

Instead, I'm in my indoor stupor, checking out the latest update to my currently favorite place to check for online poetry. I like its global flavor, as it is created/updated by a poet in Singapore. Please persuade yourself to click onto STEPHEN BLACK's section to read For Arleen Schloss right now. I just returned from everywhere; he is still everywhere.