The art to eating a songbird


. . . is to slice its crispy little tummy neatly
from chin to tail

and then to squoosh it inside out
in one quick motion

dropping the resulting package of plumeage
daintily with one raised pinky
and crunching down on the remaining innards
in one swift swallow

(songbird tastes like lizard)

Fat and protein! woo hoo!

Protein rush!
Protein rush!

(in a protein-poor environment like this
one bird goes to your head
like a double espresso)

In fact, I've got to get a towel or something
or I'll have songbird grease all over this keyboard

The Troll at the Tollbridge

Now that we're out of the mountains
we can't go very far
without running into a toll bridge or a toll ferry

Solo travellers can just skitter around
and swim the rivers

But a big gang like ours needs to play by the rules
so we don't get hassled


So . . . midday today . . .

. . . found us all leaning over
frantically searching our dashboards (saddlebags)
for tollbooth money as we came up on the tollbridge
that marks the current border of Milanese territory
(civilisation, at last!)

We saw a string of camps
along our side of the river

--- had a hearty yuk at those poor dopes
stuck waiting for authorization!

But the yuk is now on the other foot since the
stooopid, officious, little self-important bridge troll

refused to accept our Milanese passport!


We Flattered Him

"Nice tollbooth you got here!"


We Cajoled Him

"Come on, buddy, spare yourself the hassle . . .
just let us through!"


We Threatened Him


REGINE: "One week from now
I'm going to be sitting at the head table of the Visconti
wedding, telling Gian Galeazzo he'd better replace
his Northern tolltaker."


We Bribed Him

TROLL: "For me? Money? Gee thanks!"


All to no avail.

In the Penalty Box

So this evening we're in the penalty box
on the North Bank of the river
with five or six other free companies
paying extortionate prices
for bad grub
(grubs taste like caterpillars, except better texture)

and having our dinner interrupted by noisy telemarketers
with drums
offering special low introductory prices
on a bedraggled bevy of local hustlers and hookers


RA RA RA!

Here's a picture I got today


a roadside grave
maybe 3 months old

Probably a highwayman
killed this person and buried them
(there must be something wrong with the helmet
or someone would have nabbed it)

The spooky "writing" is, I believe,
the work of an illiterate
trying --- in his weird way --- to do right
by the deceased
in "language"


Skip Goes A-Networkin'

The very second we hit a group camp
like this one
Skip is out making friends
talking to all the other companies
seeing what's up

What's up is the Visconti Wedding in Milan!
It's all the buzz.


Swatting the Pinata

Since we're stalled . . .
Regine is making us practice our asses off



she's got a new sword move called
"Swatting the Pinata"

which is cracking everybody up
and making our arms sore


The Art to Hearing a Songbird

One of the other companies here
has a lutenist in its midst

a bunch of us kind of dr i i i fted over
to the fringes of their camp
to hear him play and sing

We were just totally drinking it in

He was awesome. he's from South o' France
and sang troubadour songs
and got us all teary-eyed
(we are so spoiled by the music everywhere in the 21st!)

especially this one song really got me
it went something like
(my Provencal is really bad, sorry)
"I sing to forget the pain of love
but the more I sing, the more I remember
and then all I can sing is have mercy!
because I carry your picture in my heart
and that makes it hard for me to change my tune"

and another part went

"I could die right now, Diamond,
I can't complain
even though my pain is doubled as I get close to you
like a checker when it reaches the end of the board"

hmmm . . . sounds kind of dumb when you write it out
I guess you woulda hadda been there


Everybody But You,
Don't Read This Part

I've been hoping all day
that I didn't go too far
with all that kissing talk yesterday . . .

*blush*

*stammer*

*smile?*


This Precious Spring

. . . of 2002/1368 . . . is so intense!
Crossing the Alps in the snow really makes you
feel like you've earned the Spring, all right!

Remember where you were
how you were
--- trees, flowers, birds ---
when you got these e-mails
this Spring!

I want to talk with you about it later!

Villagers wearing
branches full of blossoms
for some reason


gotta scram

seeya

BA