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Stopped at a red light, it turned green, the man in front of me starts to moving, I start to moving, suddenly he decides he wants to turn left, and stops dead in front of me, I got onto the hooks fast enough, stopped, but the person behind me, not having the slightest fkn idea that the moron in front of me stopped, the person behind me smacked into my back bumper. Hit it hard. Fortunately, it seems all the damage is to the bumper, not to any sheet metal. Maybe $200 bucks? $500? I have liability only. I'm fuct.
I'm writing this April 2 entry @ 3:32 AM on April 3.
By my calendar, it is still April 2.
Whatever time I awaken, that is when my days starts. And not even then, as I might have awakened to answer the call of nature.If still tired, I sleaze back under the waves.
When coffee hits my mouth -- that is when my day starts. And it ends whenever I fade out, into sleep.
I'm at least an hour away from sleep. I'm wired, not tired.
Psychopharmacologists are heroes. They've given me a life worth living.
Well, here I am talking into a telephone since my keyboard crapped out and I can't type this in. I do in fact get a kick out of talking to a telephone and having it take down all of my words. Fun.
It seems I've lived long enough that I made it into the future - this shit would have been a dream when I was a kid, it'd be all science fiction, and it would be open to ridicule. But nobody's ridiculing it now, we're all enjoying it, we're taking it for granted. Damn
So here's a hundred from a telephone.
65F 7:25PM, I'm on that bike,. Moving!!! Moving into a headwind but no matter: My heart was hammering, the blood rushing, the sweat pouring.
Maybe halfway into the ride I my deltoids are firing hard, esp on my left arm.
I always have to think "heart attack" and I'm trying to remember: Is it pain radiating down the left arm or the right arm?
I was almost positive it was pain in the right arm.
*Almost* means *nothing* in heart attack county.
Home now; Wikipedia tells me that I had it right.
And now: 12:51AM
I missed the going away party for Andy -- damnitall. Here I've got him this nice knife, all wrapped up, and here it sits. I'm going to mail it to him, up Michigan way.
Aside: If you ever are looking to get a guy a present, and don't know what to do, you can't go wrong with a knife. Not some cheap sleazy piece of crap but a real knife -- a Gerber, a Kershaw, a Buck.
For decades Buck was my go to, for decades Buck is what I carried.
If some guy says he doesn't like knives, don't trust him.
So I head on out, maybe 11:30 PM, nice warm night, bit of a breeze.
Is that a flash of lightning? Nah...
Hmm, there it is again.... Probably heat lightning. No problemo.
And here's just a spatter of rain, down by the dam, maybe quarter into the ride......
Time I hit that fun climb to street level the wind is blowing like a bitch, and here's the rain -- jesus h. christ, what a storm !!!
Fuck !! What a gas !!!
Stopped, called TB, headed home. Storm'd mostly blown itself out, nothing but a fine, fun memory.
Like the thermometer fell of a cliff.
49F @ 7AM. Forecast said mid -- high 50s.
Forecast was wrong.
It kept dropping. Finally, 7:30PM, it's windy, it's 41F, I'm like "Fuck it, gots to GO!" Geared up. Got on that bike.
I thought my chill rides were over for the year.
I wear shorts. Helmet. Gloves. Shoes. Pack. No pants, socks, shirt, wind clothing.
I've learned so. goddamned. much. about cold.
About my body.
The most important thing I've learned is that I need to learn more, about mind over conditions.
A nasty, slashing email from a person I've counted as a close friend.
I wrote a sharp, pointed, accurate rebuke.
I did not hit "Send."
Difficult to refrain.
I know him well.
I can slash right back.
I'm going to sit with it.
Sit on it.
Pray on it.
Time is on my side.
Sending the rebuke likely severs the friendship.
Do I give a fuck? At this end of that email from him, why would I?
I'm not at all interested in being slashed/trashed by a "friend."
Life's too short.
About as low impact a day as I can have. As in -- not much shaking. A Day In The Life. I made and ate an enjoyable lunch, an enjoyable dinner, an enjoyable cup of soup after coming in from the bike ride. Maybe this stack of words is not some recounting of nor an accounting for some huge event.
I felt shame, bleed over from last night, going over the line when speaking publicly -- sometimes the line is easy for me to see, sometimes I don't know until after I've crossed it. How often am I unaware of crossing over?
Me: Where are you gonna be at lunchtime tomorrow? 8:17PM
Jim: Don't know, what u thinking? 8:20PM
Jim: I should be available is you want to do something? 8:47PM
Me: Just meet up, talk about something that came up 8:57PM
~~~~~ radio silence ~~~~~
~~~~~~~ crickets ~~~ ~~~~
I'd bet $100 Jim knows *exactly* what I intend to talk about.
Wish I'd not had to push this. But that email just way over the line.
I'm good at walking. Turn on my heel, walk, head high.
Lots of experience.
This is interesting.
What makes me sad now is I'm old so fast, that it's over with. It's not over, but I mean, you know, yeah, that kind of... I'd like to be around, do more, see what happens. But then I also know how life is lived, so...
Be thankful for a good life. And I honestly say I had a good life. You can sit around being sad -- no no no... Get up each morning, and I hope I can drink wine again, and be happy.
Eldon Dedini, his time closing in.
Excerpted from documentary "Dedini -- A Life Of Cartoons"
I saw my psych doc today. A waste of time.
I don't trust her,.
With good cause.
I haven't room in my heart for hatred or contempt -- that hurts only me -- but if I did she'd be there.
Which is to say: I hope she dies in a car fire.
Of course I don't hope that. All in fun.
The fact that I can laugh about it, that's awesome. I had that white-hot anger for two days, then found the joy,. The laughter. The peace.
Peace is Joy at rest.
Joy is Peace on the move.
What I want to write here is how goddamn sick and tired I am of this whole "Men are scum" routine that is currently enveloping the US, Australia, the UK, on and on.
We're seen as shit just because we've got a set of balls.
Except we're not acting like we've got any balls.
Trying to please women is a fools game any time in any way is going to fail. Trying to please these raving ratbags who've been taught that they've been fucked over by men is just stupid.
I am so done with this shit.
Broccoli is the best. I just love it. Get it when it's perfectly ripe, the edges of the flower turning a bit purple. Steam it. Don't kill it, leave it crunchy. Squeeze a lemon or lime over it. Just a shade of salt.
I love it in just about every way that there is to love a simple food.
It's a big flower -- did you know that? I didn't, not until maybe 12 years ago, driving in California, monstrous fields of broccoli.
I just feel so good when I eat it. It definitely has something in it that I need.
Not a nightmare. Not a waking dream. Not pleasant, kept trying to explain, felt someone right behind me and I could. not. fkn. move., I could not turn around and see them. Whoever they were.
I fell into sleep here right next to this screen -- my puter runs through this 50" LCD. I kept having to explain, in this dream that went on and on, kept having to explain what was on the screen.
It was totally real cuz it seems I kept awakening just to the level of seeing the screen, whilst still in the dream. Strange.
3:34 AM, I came in off of a bike ride that was just a tiny bit chill, I came in hungry and thought "Hey! I've got that brown rice and those orange lentils I like so much -- time to get cookin'." And I got cookin'. An hour later, I've got this monster bowl of goodness in front of me, and Lo, it was good.
Except I drifted off, and didn't write my hundred.
Nature saved me. I'd drank a *lot* of water tonight; that got me up and staggering to the john.
Thx for the call, Nature.
I gathered up all appropriate scraps of paper, this form, that form, the other form, enlisted the aid of a kind man who volunteers his services yearly as a tax specialist for a non-profit org, all of it come together to find out how much I owed and fill out all the forms and then write a check to the tune of $883 and sent to those disgusting, low-rent, filthy, rotten, scumbag, no-good rat-bastards sons of bitches at the Internal Revenue Service.
I will never, ever forget that "banks were too big to fail."
Yesterday still hangs in with me today. A Big Day it was, parting with that much cash was/is really a jolt.
I don't mind paying taxes. Roads. Cops. (Yeah, I am *well* aware that there are many fascist pigs out there in black uniforms. Still, it is the order of things.) Libraries.
I guess I'm saying infrastructure.
I wish I had a say in how the money is distributed. Fuck the "defense" industry -- Orwell has got to be laughing his ass off. I do believe that the US empire has passed its zenith, passing the baton to China.
She talked about wanting to cut her face, to slash herself, to disfigure herself, she wanted to make the game stop so she could move on to being accepted for who she was, so that people would actually talk to *her* and not to her beauty, not just men but women also, who were jealous. I saw her more than once taken to tears by the frustration that's in it all. I doubt that she disfigured herself, and I sure hope that she didn't. It's been thirty years since I've seen her but I've sure never forgotten her dilemma.
My cousin Randy.
I trusted him more than any other person.
I recall telling friends about him, the complete trust I had, the faith I had in him.
You know where this is going.
Randy was not the first person to fuck me over; I'd learned some fairly hard lessons -- but good lessons -- from ppl that I pretty much had a sense of them, to not be surprised.
When it went down, I sortof went into shock. There was money in it but it wasn't that. It was Randy straight up telling me to fuck off.
I will never understand it.
Take the time to notice the everyday, to see what it is that's laid out in front of you, to not just look at it but to actually see it -- only once you've trained your eye can you see the silver which lays upon the water in the evening, but then you've got to keep on noticing as the minutes clock by, and as the seconds clock by, and ever so slowly that silver water turns molten neon mercury silver, and it is one of the most beautiful sights which you will see on this day, or any day.
I came *this close* to closing up shop on the day and hadn't yet written here. A Close Shave. (Which was of course a great name for a great movie. But it was Too Close For Comfort in this case.)
I had this great bike ride. It was chill but so what, it was a gorgeous night, the moon sliced exactly in half, laying on its back, yellow-orange as it sank below the horizon.
The biggest piece of the day? Seeing Jon, first time in at least five years. Trashy drugs and that trashy woman have etched his face.
Up way past dawn. Slept til almost seven PM. Couldn't believe it but the clock wasn't lying to me. Pulled clothing on, out the door to meet Jason, down by the river. Made it by 7:30, barely.
Then home, still pretty much dazed and confused by the long sleep. Out the door on bike ride maybe 11 PM, give or take. No caffeine at all, because I know if I even saw any coffee I'll be up all night again, and I don't want my book to read that way.
The ride did pick me up. I love that.
Take the time to notice the everyday, to see what it is that is laid out in front of you, to not just look at it but to actually see it -- only once you've trained your eye can you see the silver which lays upon the water in the evening, but then you've got to keep on noticing as the minutes clock by, and as the seconds clock by, and ever so slowly that silver water turns molten neon mercury silver, and it is one of the most beautiful sights which you will see on this day, or any day.
you'd think that 59F is 59F, period. that there's no such thing as a warm 59F, no such thing as a chill 59F.
actually I don't know if you'd think that or not. but if you *do* think that you are goddamn sure wrong.
I have proof.
I'm just in from that 11 mile bike ride. it's 59F out there. a *chill* 59F, that's for sure, because of the rain earlier and a fairly sharp goddamn breeze. fuck.
fuck fuck fuck fuck.
I thought this cold jive was done for the year.
but no. no, it isn't fucking done.
I already wrote this hundred. It was good. It was well written, thoughtful, honest. I spent some time on it -- not too much, but enough to make a nice hundred.
And then when I tried to enter it in here it got eaten.
This is really maddening. Frustrating.
So here I am, halfway through writing it again, not giving a fuck what it is that I am writing, just watching the counter spin down the words to one hundred. Still nineteen words to go.
I fucking hate the software on this site. I just fucking hate hate hate hate it.
Yet again, I wrote a sweet, tight 100. I was really happy with it. It rang, it sang, it was fun writing, it was honest writing, probably you'd have liked it also.
But when I tried to enter it, this cocksucking motherfucking garbage-can software ate the fucking thing.
God. Fucking. Damn. It.
You'd think I'd have the snap to learn to not trust anything here, that I'd save off a copy of every goddamn motherfucking word I write before I enter it.
Nothing. Nothing of note today. I watched videos. I slept through the late afternoon / early evening hours, slept deeply and well.
Is this a good life? No, it is not.
Trapped. Sloth. Unwillingness to move. Perhaps inability to move, I don't know.
I do know that the past week has been better than preceding weeks, preceding months. But it is so. fucking. slow, my change is taking so goddamn long.
Will I die in this condo? Will I die in this small life? Will I die living the lie I am living, will I die without having lived in years?
I love broccoli. *Gently* steamed, still firm, either lemon or lime juice on it, a touch of that pink sea salt I love so.
Not only do I love how it tastes, it is such a good food *for* me, I love how I feel.
It seems that I have a broccoli deficiency.
I loved my mother. Still do. But let's just have facts be facts -- she could and would destroy any joy in food.
One night I brought perfect broccoli to be cooked, specified "Just *lightly* steam it." She destroyed it. It was soggy green goo. Unreal.
This was twice, the last time maybe three months ago. I don't recall this as being a part of my life, to be expected with regularity.
I don't know what the nightmare was. I have no memory of what caused me to jerk out of sleep as I did, slamming my head back *hard* twice as I attempted to back away from the terror. I screamed LOUDLY, twice.
I don't know that I screamed out loud but I think that I did. And these condo walls are thin as rice paper; quite likely my neighbors got to hear me.
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