hemingway's lady stopped to ask someone for directions in the french railway, then looked down where she'd set her luggage: gone!

it was carrying ernest's unpublished manuscripts

a man came home from work and peeked into his wife's room. she'd been one of the 26 typists [an alphabet!] hammering out james joyce's ulysses. when she got home she was told never to return to that pervert's house, and the husband and burned all she'd typed in the hearth.

nothing is permanent.

that's why the buddhist nun at the beauty salon asked for an impermanent! 

this month i received a very nicely phrased email from the gentleman who has hosted my webpages, for over a decade i think now, saying that the server collapsed.

five years earlier, i'd begun the site at geocities, before porting it over to levity.com

so all of you who visited .i.n.t.e.r.b.e.i.n.g., my home pages, at http://word.to, over the past fifteen years, thank you.

in retrospect, there was more there than any one could reasonably be expected to read: translations of chanelled writing ["romanino"] by paule di puccio, translations from chinese [the li po society of america] with c.h. kwock; translations of poetry by ko un; the online adjunct to my anthology what book and my complete idiot's guide to buddhism; my haiku pages; a draft of work in progress phenomenology; sample articles [4-part coverage of peacemakers' conference; lonh interview with jose ramos horta; interview with brenda blethyn; stuff from shambhala sun, tricycle, etc] i hadn't posted my interview with brad warner, recent ko un translations online, articles from asianart.com where i now write from time to time ... 

well, every day is a good day.

 i guess i'm called upon to blog

am back from teaching writing and hanging out at otis college of art and design [formerly parsons], and seeing my mom and 95-year-old dad, and my nephew and his new wife, down south.  los angeles.

back last night.  

what now?