December 21st, 2005



Painstakingly, the world is drenched, drop by slow drop. Hours have passed without a single downpour, but only this constant, dispirited drizzle. It is unworthy of the name Storm. Still, though everything is well soaked now, I'd like to see at least a brief deluge before the poor thing gives up and blows away.

The original 1956 version of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" was on television last night. Creepy. I never get tired of that movie. Also, after I saw it the first time, I was never again able to go to Sierra Madre without feeling a little frisson of unease when I arrived at the intersection of Baldwin Avenue and Sierra Madre Boulevard, the location of that small, triangular plaza where one of the creepiest scenes in the movie was filmed. The 1950's linger there still.

The wordy little icon I'm using with this entry is called a minifesto, available here, courtesy of xach. Fill the box with your own text, submit, and download. It's only available in green, and the letters are pretty small, but it's still neat. I chose to use a short poem by Octavio Paz, called "Epitaph for no Stone." Now it's an epitaph on an LJ icon. Paz is probably turning over in his grave.

I do believe today is the Winter Solstice. Happy Winter Solstice.
laszlo moholy-nagy_chx

Rain and Stench

A great thunderclap woke me, and I lay abed listening to the furious downpour which accompanied it. The sound invited me to rise and look out the window, but the warm covers insisted that I remain buried, and not expose myself to the room's chill. The covers won, so I drifted for a while in a half dream of flooded roads and wind-tossed woodlands. Only when the storm had calmed a bit did I wake sufficiently to leave the comfort of my cocoon and look upon the gray afternoon of solstice, with its drifts of wood smoke and its sodden landscape. A glittering stream still flowed along the road verge, and the massed clouds still threatened to engulf the treetops. The moody sight cheered me no end.

The rain continues, and is expected to do so for days to come. It's probably going to be a wet Foxmas.

Rain failed to dampen a strange odor which insinuated itself through my window a couple of hours ago. It was a cloying perfume smell (which, fortunately, has since dissipated.) At first, I had my usual reaction to a powerful yet inexplicable smell: brain tumor! Then I decided that it was not a hallucination, and realized that it was most likely either: a) A lost starlet (perhaps Britney or Lindsay... or both!) having sex in the bushes under my window; b) A neighbor foolishly taking a shower with some over-scented body wash and their bathroom window wide open; c) Somebody doing a load of washing and using too much of some foul fabric softener; d) Somebody had dropped a box, breaking its contents, a bottle of Wal-Mart perfume, when placing Jul presents under their Wotan tree, or; e) A guy in his twenties visiting town from Long Island had passed by on the road a few hundred feet west. Either it was one of those, or Ashton Kutcher's head had exploded.

Now a more sinister explanation occurs to me. What if the Mad Scientists at the University of California have been engaged in an experiment to genetically engineer skunks which spray a mixture of Old Spice, Cher's "Unihibited", and Drakkar Noir, and one of their subjects has escaped? And, if so, what if it breeds, and it passes on its evil, engineered genes to its offspring? The whole world could end up stinking like that! Oh, the horror! I think I'd rather have it be a brain tumor than that!