the nasty and frigid vibrations of today

dunno what it is or was but the past twelve hours or so have curdled in the pit of my stomach to the point that every action and thought has a thick base of irrational anger that I can't shake, It might be the book I'm reading, or the weather and wind that conspire to collapse my lungs and veins but as the story arc drops alongside the degrees, I find myself imagining nonsensical and elaborate conspiracies against me, solely to justify throwing the little man staring at me on the J train into the plexiglass facing the grey sky over the brooklyn bridge. not that anything particularly horrible or even inconvenient happened in the 4 feet or so in front of me that I can see between scarf and hat; i'm just angry and once the fire is going in this city there's enough fuel to burn it longer and hotter than the damned sun that refuses to make a meaningful appearance.

anyway, today I visited the ancient (1895) coffee and tea purveyor on Christopher street to pick up some green coffee beans to try to roast and 3 empty burlap sacks because you can never have enough. afterwards I stumbled across one of the tiny dominican cigar places from the article i posted, where i bought a $1 torpedo from a disappointed looking owner. Today at ecorche class we placed the adductor muscles on ridiculous femurs. Mine looked like modigliani had snuck in and adjusted them in the night, while most of the rest of the class (down to 6 or so now) had Flintstone bones in every direction but the proper one. I made some pictures of the corrected figures but forgot the transfer cable for now.

Manana coffee roasting will be attempted, bread baking will commence, and laundry must be done for the sake of everyone everywhere unless i buy new socks. Thank god tomorrow is February 29th.

What's happening ctd..

http://www.wildmanstevebrill.com/ March

http://www.bakerloo.org/pubcrawl/index.htm Soon

http://www.springcraftbeerfestival.com/ Late March

http://www.cowsoutside.com/ applying for internship in May

http://www.wacken.com/ August

regarding the high gravity front sweeping the northeast..

things spilled in the past month:

1) coffee (crotchwards)
2) Me (downstairishly)
3) Me & a 2nd cup of coffee

the effect is so strong that it has been known to actually rip small human beings from their beds during the night, leaving them with bruises resembling...coffee stains.

Other news:

http://www.cigaraficionado.com/Cigar/CA_Archives/CA_Show_Article_Print/0,2812,1573,00.html
http://nymag.com/nymetro/nightlife/barbuzz/11924/

apparently this is legal and I missed it somehow until last saturday, and then incident 2 happened...
http://www.drinklucid.com/



What's Happening:

Ecorche class
Art modeling
fruit dehydrating (peaches/plums currently)
Reading: Rum Diary, Leaves of Grass
Baking, w/ living Brooklyn Starter

Upcoming:
Sumi-e classes
Intensive French
Lazy Italian
a quest for Walt Whitman's Grave
climbing Central Park
Creedmoore Living Museum

speaking of speakeasies,
apparently E.E. Cummings wrote this poem about the bar located next to the ukranian store where the blouse worn during the Cairo market scenes of Raiders of the Lost Ark was sold, and where Nikki and I were glared at by a man with curlers in his cotton colored monopoly-guy mustache.

I was sitting in mcsorley's. outside it was New York and beautifully snowing.

Inside snug and evil. the slobbering walls filthily push witless creases of screaming warmth chuck pillows are noise funnily swallows swallowing revolvingly pompous a the swallowed mottle with smooth or a but of rapidly goes gobs the and of flecks of and a chatter sobbings intersect with which distinct disks of graceful oath, upsoarings the break on ceiling-flatness

the Bar.tinking luscious jigs dint of ripe silver with warm-lyish wetflat splurging smells waltz the glush of squirting taps plus slush of foam knocked off and a faint piddle-of-drops she says I ploc spittle what the lands thaz me kid in no sir hopping sawdust you kiddo

he's a palping wreaths of badly Yep cigars who jim him why gluey grins topple together eyes pout gestures stickily point made glints squinting who's a wink bum-nothing and money fuzzily mouths take big wobbly foot

steps every goggle cent of it get out ears dribbles soft right old feller belch the chap hic summore eh chuckles skulch. . . .

and I was sitting in the din thinking drinking the ale, which never lets you grow old blinking at the low ceiling my being pleasantly was punctuated by the always retchings of a worthless lamp.

when With a minute terrif iceffort one dirty squeal of soiling light yanKing from bushy obscurity a bald greenish foetal head established It suddenly upon the huge neck around whose unwashed sonorous muscle the filth of a collar hung gently.

(spattered)by this instant of semiluminous nausea A vast wordless nondescript genie of trunk trickled firmly in to one exactly-mutilated ghost of a chair,

a;domeshaped interval of complete plasticity,shoulders, sprouted the extraordinary arms through an angle of ridiculous velocity commenting upon an unclean table.and, whose distended immense Both paws slowly loved a dinted mug

gone Darkness it was so near to me,i ask of shadow won't you have a drink?

(the eternal perpetual question)

Inside snugandevil. i was sitting in mcsorley's It,did not answer.

outside.(it was New York and beautifully, snowing. . . .