I've been long absent but not gone.  Still trucking along.  Read a passage the other day in a great book called 'Coyote Kings of the Space Age Bachelor Pad' by this cat writing under the name, Minister Faust.  He was talking about walking.  How his feet are feeling the souls of his shoes, and his shoes are feeling the pavement, and the pavement is feeling the ground underneath that hasn't seen the sun, with the weeds bursting through the cracks demanding their light to live by.  My train of thought zips from Minister's E-town, Canada; to Puget Sound where Ginsberg is talking.  "Let the straight flower bespeak it's purpose in straightness, to seek the light.  Let the crooked flower bespeak it's purpose in crookedness, to seek the light.".  Delicate and resiliant, a frightening reality.

This is a ramble, sure, but I've got a track to roll on.  All us folks out there, concsiously or unconcsiously seeking some kind of light.  Some have dancers shoes on, some wear sandals, and (well) some of us have old boots with encrusted puke spots. 

No matter, lots of other folks are out there staking a claim on the earth with their straws to suck what they can out of it.  Me too.  I have to to live.  But it strikes me, a hole in my stomach that can't be filled, an obsession for delirium that nothing could satisfy. 

It was filled today by taking joy in my work, by giving back, and seeing a kid's triumphant smile.

His Grandmother told me, "He picked out his own book from the library for the very first time today."

I wish never to forget the quiet pride he took in the book he chose ('Dinosaur Roar!', one of my favorites)... or the thanks his eyes showed without a word.  I don't just sling info anymore; I am set before&n bsp;'the way'.  Bless this mess, and may we meet the right folk at the right time.

6m' 13d'