and then our exile

Wenn es regnet im Mai
ist der April vorbei.
und
Wenn der Hahn kra:ht auf dem Mist,
a:ndert sich das Wetter, oder es bleibt wie es ist.

The day started later than usual with a number of shocking realizations: 1) plays mother-mine actual piano?(!) 2) --the sun is up already? Fajr-of-my-heart! where you at! i must weep! 3) --i never sent an email last night! Someone shall murder me!
Shaped up, though: forestall'd a corpse and did my part in planting ~275 potatoes, clearing another truckload of trail-brush. Slowly watched own life-processes wither. VantheMan may speak of whiter shades of pale, but i find in myself only gathering shades of grae. Somehow, from within the very excesses of transgression, some cruel, honest, damning impartiality, just as a Day shall come... the one the shadow of the other.

Syrian visa application: Have you visited occupied Palestine?
Me: Dude, which story d'you want?

Not to impugn the one Hyderabadi who might read this, but them crazy Indians. "Ve vill die for Sonia Gandhi! Blease, hawe marcy upon us." And by Indians i mean the Brown Indians, the Bloody Wogs, the Hindoos, the Biryani-eating Other, not the Red Indians, the Savages, the Injuns, the Scalpifying Other--the difference is necessary, because Stephen Harper can't distinguish. The colonial mentality is the same.

On a happier note, i think there is a plot by the citizens of the world to feed me chocolate. LC said as much yesterday, and it's been broadened.

Reading: The English Patient, Ondaatje; The Eleventh Hour, Lings; BookOfPoetry, Azania; bunch of other stuff.
Listening: "the birds in the trees". (yes, Mr.Bengali Tiger...)