JF & K

That was an old Smokey Robinson song, wasn't it?
Here I am logged into the concourse wireless at NY Airport. Tired, waiting to take off for Warszawa and then loop back to Wroclaw for the Prix Visionica Festival. Though I have my camera with me, I have cunningly left the cable in my luggage, so cannot download a photo just yet. And, of course you will remember, the camera in the computer gave up the ghost a year ago, for no apparent reason.
the end of the world may be nigh though... hang on a bit... I have re-found one of those lost small things which John the revalator sings (?) about in his book. To wit: the white thingy from my computer which went missing last summer. Found in a zip pocket in another bag. Ah, mysteries.
What am I hoping for in Poland?
To meet some people and make some headway with Mirand'a. perhaps I should talk to two new persons a day (as IKEA catalogues recommend)? Or at least prowl the streets like a madman, waving Mirand'a bookmarks at other strangers.
Why a bookmark? In a typically inspired leap of advertising... it's a film, so let's pretend it's a book. it's a dvd, let's make believe it's a vinyl record.
As ever , we go in search of the perfect empty set of A/\B = 0.
Tired, a long day behind, and a long night ahead, listeniong to what De Seung Sa Nim (I kid you not) called the Om of an airplane's jets. Automatic meditation.
And the turbulence when these night flights cross the dawn line somewhere over Greenland.
Fear of flying? It used to be that take off gave me white knuckles, but life has grown so permanently and wondrously stressful that take off lifts the responsibilities off my shoulders for a few hours and I relax.
Funny.
More tomorrow, or later if I get insomnia.