19 August

Laughing with Blue Lips, that's me, always me. You hit it, Regina Spektor, as always.

Then there are days like today when the sky is soggy and the rain blows in the screens, (aka my hair frizzes and my joints ache), and everything I know about Humanity waxes over with the sky outside. Days when the enormity of all the little changes of the years, the minute cracks in personages, swoop together and descend on all the subtly static ones-- the ones who can't realize that they've also been changing. Those are days when the laughing stops, but the lips are still blue.

And then there are the people who don't change, who don't re-program themselves like rusty computers every month or so; who do not pass you over like one convenient step in the ladder of their aspirations; whose insides do not swivel and re-arrange themselves into people I do not know. Then I am laughing again, for I really do not ever stop laughing; but sometimes it is a harder sort of laughter, for which of us is not quite often desperately happy; and the lips are still blue, always blue; they grow bluer and bluer and bluer.