The only thing I’ve written in weeks was a Thank You note concerning a birthday gift of stereo speakers that are, right now, left and righting directly behind me. Damn near Studio Monitors, I dare say. Sweet to my now-septuagenarian auricular—I so confess.
And fess up to listening to Electric Swing (nujazz) like the that below:
I just can’t let go of this no go of no posting. I can’t even punk a poem up. Perhaps, because I can’t plant my butt on a barstool, or greasy spoon them biscuits and gravy, or wave a runner in from third, or give word to our return to the Dark Ages.
“C’est la vie” say the old folks.