April is National Poetry Writing Month, or so I’ve been told. Well, I’m going to celebrate it by… sigh… writing a poem a day in April. Oh, gawd, lop off my head with a kitten. This is seriously going to cut into my Resident Evil 4 time.
But seriously, I’m pretty excited about this. In much the same way as this little blogging bet has me blogging more, I think this particular exercise will be good for my poetry. If it’s actually decent, I think I’ll post some.
Don’t ever say I didn’t do nothing for me.
Last night and tonight, the Central Coast is hitting all-time low temperatures for this time of year. Experts have been talking about us getting snowfall as low as 1000 feet. That means Madonna Mountain (at an elevation of 1250 feet), which is within a mile of where I live, may be snowpeaked tonight, and that means that Cuesta Grade (at 1500 feet) will almost certainly get some, if anybody does.
I dreamt I was driving through an orange grove in a white-crested world with an overcast dusk overhead. Excepting the dream, I’ve never seen oranges covered in snow before, but I have seen frozen cherry trees!
Two nights ago, I had the craziest dream where I escaped from a prison, high up in the Alps, in spring. Once free, Sir Ben Kingsley taught me the fine art of boxing, but I had to interrupt it for a moment so I could dance the foxtrot with Brian and Olivia.
I was really really good at the foxtrot, and that’s no lie.
Last night I had a crazy dream in which I moved back to the mansion, and was paid to live there. I remember calling Devon and he was screaming “get out of there NOW, it’s a TRAP!”
Also, there was a pretty crazy party at the pool in the back, and a lawyer came up to me to discuss the medical benefits I’d be receiving from living there.
Pretty sweet deal? I know!
That is, until I realized I joined a cult and got shipped to Guadalajara in a suitcase…
I saw Meg Ryan Saturday. She was like, five feet away. I’d love to say that we had coffee, walked along a garden path with autumn leaves falling around our feet and declared our undying love for each other while a gaggle of fireworks exploded above us.
But sadly, there were no fireworks, it was cold, clammy and raining, and she probably hates coffee.
Here’s to the dreams of movies and cinema, manifested in a strange metrosexual fascination with Jude Law and an undying adoration for flippant conversation, warm colors and beautiful camera angles with clever narration.