1) Kief—NOT a spliff. I was thinking of keef but that doesn’t mean spliff either!
(noun) THC crystals from cannabis buds. These don't only come from dank buds, but from any weed which has been ground in a Spacecase, or any other weed grinder with a keefbox.
(verb) To remove keef from cannabis, as with a grinder or otherwise2) Vug—NOT the whiffy fog in a room after a bunch of sweaty, funky smelling dudes have been stinking it up with smoke.
(noun) a small unfilled cavity in a lode or in rock3) Wyte—NOT an alternate spelling of white.
(noun) a fine imposed by a king or lord on a subject who committed a serious crime.4) Chert—NOT a type of cheap cigar (I’m thinking cheroot)
a fee demanded for granting a special privilege.
Chiefly Scot. responsibility for a crime, fault, or misfortune; blame.
(noun) a compact rock consisting essentially of microcrystalline quartz.~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IF I woke up and, magically, my hearing had returned (where ya been? Missed the fuck outta youse!) the very first thing I would do is wake up The Amazing Bob and make him talk to me. Doesn’t matter what he’d say, it’s just the gorgeous, midnight FM jazz DJ voice that I want to hear again. He could read Shakespeare, Vonnegut, Twain or some old damn recipe book. Wouldn’t matter.
Next I’d queue up these albums and tunes on the old turntable:
Jeff Beck, Rod Stewart, Ron Wood—Truth (with my fav anthem Shapes of Things)Yeah, that’d be a good start.
NIN—The Downward Sprial
Beatles—Abby Road (specifically the B side)
Aaron Copeland—Fanfare for the Common Man
Franz Liszt—Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 and Totentanz
Scott Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag and Easy Winner
Paul Simon—Rhythm of the Saints or maybe I’d start with American Dream which often, happily, plays on my internal turntable.
Talking Heads—Stop Making Sense
and the Queen of the Night aria from Mozart’s Magic Flute.
Then I’d call my father. Just like old times, we’d hang on the phone, laughing, raging, talking nonsense, reciting song lyrics and poems, consoling each other and just generally being buds.
In creature news, on leaving Jen's yesterday evening, I spied a new cat scurrying under my porch wedging table. From that briefest of glimpses, the newbie appeared to be a tux. Hey, maybe related to Coco and Rocco! A relative! I dashed inside, made the stranger a plate of kibble and Fancy Feast and brought it out. Then I waited by the door.
Nope, not a tux—a skunk. The cutest little thing too. I was surprised to see her—it was still light out and our skunk visitors usually come in the early morning hours.
Skunks—NOT the same as cats.
Dazed and Confused—Led Zep