Jong's out of town for the weekend, off to mighty mighty LA for an old friend's wedding (ha! I almost Freudianly typed "weeding", for whatever that means). Which leaves me more time on my hands than I am accustomed to these days, and I have some time to sit down and work on the web site, which I had let languish for... Good Lord, five months now...
     Spring time is back in Austin, and it's rolling out on its own strong, metered tick. The mountain laurels are already done, having spread their sweet and fading scent across the city for a scant two weeks. The blue bonnets are coming in strong, and the later season flowers like the black eyed susans are starting to assert themselves. The days are Austin perfect once again, and life is mighty fine.
     My dad sent me an email earlier in the week, and he told me "Promise yourself you will not feel sorry for yourself." My dad, long the sane and main stream hold out in my family, is starting to get as twisted as the rest of us, and it's good to see. It's funny seeing my dad, at sixty-something, wrestling with some of the same things that I, at twenty-something, wrestle with. Maybe we've got more in common than I ever thought.
     I'm removing the link down there to runawaytrain. Apparently, some time in the past five months, Leslie has decided to close up shop. I'll miss her.
     And I'm removing the link down there to good old chunk. Amy's gone and given up her space for some reason, who knows. I really loved her Soundtrack (who doesn't have one of these things running in their head?), but I just get depressed reading her site any more. "Misery doesn't love company, misery loves miserable company" as the wise Jim once said. Fare ye well, chunkster.
     So, in memory of chunk, who went to see Jane's Addiction while I went to Paris, and made me remember what it was like to be 19 and think that Perry Farrel was the mouth-piece and the prophet of the new revolution, I've put some Jane's Addiction off there to the right And it's Perry at his best, when you still thought he was speaking some kind of strung out hipster God Truth, ringing from the West Coast with the One True Word.
     This site was last updated on 3/28/99.

     True hunting's over:
     No herd to follow.
     Without game,
     Men prey on each other.
     The family weakens by the bites we swallow.

     True leaders gone
     Of land and people
     We choose no kin
     But adopted strangers.
     The family weakens by the lengths we travel.

     All of us are with wings.

               --Three Days, Jane's Addiction

Out of site but not out of mind:

And someone I work with asked me to plug our site,

poems | weekend | road