WooHoo! Out of 379,000 hits for *Xanga* on Google (which has the largest global search audience on the Web with nearly 46 percent of all surfers using its site), my Xanga Tetris ranks #4--and I haven't even promoted it!

Okay--who out there is the addict driving Xanga Tetris to the top?!

And as I awaken and face yet another day of extreme self-induced bodily fatigue from pressing myself into shape, I prepare to run again, I stare out of the window into this fantastic complexity called nature, and I think: fuck blogging.  There's at least 1001 more interesting things to do.  I shall now attempt some of them.

My Daily Run(s)

There's unseasonable hardly insufferable heat here in the Midwest.  So, of course, I have run twice, not once, today.  In the morning, I was caught up jogging in the haze of the daze, yet catching lucid glimpses of impacting, sparkling uniqueness here and there.  But all was forgotten through the course of the day. 

But when I came out tonight, there was no question: joy alone was to mandate my excursion.  The cool air kissed me as I stirred a breeze in pressing resistance to it.  The darkness enwombed me with the knowledge that though I'd see less, neither would I be scrutinized much.  And even in seeing less, I came to apprehend more.  Every impacting. sparkling moment of morning uniqueness returned to me as unraveling eidetic imagery... 

The fertilizer spreads across the corner apartment's sidewalk and looks like bee pollen in the morning sun and I marvel as I run, pouncing and crunching it.  Two school boys walk in the distance and look like kosher candidates wearing yamakas but in nearing I see they are only wearing Indians baseball caps.  A young woman is showing off her feisty pup to an admiring passerby and the pup lunges exuberantly at me as I stride past indicating that he'd rather also be running.  A young girl at the school crossing who's a school guard is lackadaisical in the morning's heat and lets her traffic flag droop as the rambunctious rowdy crowd of kids cross.  The pudgy next-door neighbor seeing me leave and then watching me return is feeling sick because, though I'm older than him, I'm feeling explosive like a teenager and he's like an older man rationalizing aches and pains.  These visions of the morning all returned to me as I traversed the same pounded ground under new cloak black.  They all served as the close of the circle at the day’s end. 

Now in the morning I shall run again to recall, perhaps, the subliminal indecipherable vividities of this evening’s meditation in action.