laid up in the Jesus year

Little gap in the ol' posts here, with good (?) reason- nearly a week ago I drove 200k in what must have been a funky position to help a friend move house. I wasn't out of the car for five minutes before I bent down to pick up some trifle, some metal pole or something, and pulled a major muscle in my lower back. Spent the next two days laying down reading John Donne prose while the sun shone through the windows for about the third time in 2007. Hobbling around at 32, which brings me to-

The fact that I'm, actually, in my 33rd year, which, I realized whilst convalescing, is what the wierd among us refer to as their 'Jesus Year'. The year of crucifiction, and of resurrection. I've got one of those things covered already. I no longer feel strange about ducking the '27 club' (membership: Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Cobain, God bless them all), but I do feel a kind of wondrous expanse between the present and things I didn't really consider the Deep Past until life happened while I was making other plans and I found myself here, and kind of delighted to have alot of shit behind me, out of the way, stuff that's dead yet generates life.

Teenage angst has paid off well, now I'm bored and old
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose
I am the Lizard King, I can do anything
'Scuse me while I kiss the sky












feel free to think over your tenacity
Thoroughly green birds don't exist anyway
but you can come over to my place and play anytime
I won't begrudge you your skirts or your cigarettes
or the tiny fists within your fists
and within mine
We can duck and weave with them
as we see fit
I'm drunk with you anyway