Back to Port Arthur. ... Looked up Blanton (my old ceramics teacher) in the middle school and I found a retarded kid pounding clay. He told me to wait, and I did. Blanton comes in and we start talking (and either he's totally starved for company or he's hitting on me or both); he starts showing me pictures in his photo album from when he was younger -- visually reminding me of someone I've seen and occasionally thought of from gaming/wall berlin circles (I think his name was Lauren; noticed him because of his piercings, when I was considering getting some).
I'm watching fireworks, camped out with (stolen by?) a troupe of gypsies. There's a six-year-old girl doing some amazing (though stilly to be coming from a critter of such an age) moves (moves that would be incredibly enticing and suggestive in someone with a more proportioned body)... and the lifelong practice totally shows and explains itself in the older ones. A well-developed girld of about fourteen is showing me pictures of her performance earlier in the night, telling me she hadn't really know the fireworks they were using so she had to go entirely by feel/intuition on the theatrics vs. length of fuses... but the pictures are stunning, and she's intoxicatingly happy with herself... the pictures are basically of the quality and beauty you'd see in national geographic or somesuch.
anyway, that's it. weird.