Recent Entries Garion born; thinking of doing video logs - 2012-09-01 I'm married, I'm a prospective father, wow I never update - 2012-05-22 Got the job at the NIA; mother complicates wedding plans - 2011-10-13 Scrawl - 2011-08-05 It's never been better - 2011-06-02
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Male pattern boldness 2001-10-24 - 3:27 p.m. 
There were a thousand brilliant lime lights reading poetry in my dreams, catapulted into imitation teak coffeehouses with amused 20 somethings. It was an entire city pulsating with the vibrancy of youth, heartbeats of white noise casually slipping their arms around and through me. I could feel the revolutions, the leaps across chasms of ignorance, some falling down so far into themselves. A death at bottom, at the mike, applause; even defeat was triumph here. It was as if intellectuals had stormed the world's PA system and decided to have an obnoxiously clever block party. Even when I woke up I couldn't quite leave.I am comfortably numb. It's overcast outside, but warm. I learned how to handle mice today. They make 5 year olds look like senile old men. They're tiny organic springs clinging upside down, to the side, defying gravity in the cage or on my hand. Dew still clings to the leaves outside. They say it'll snow tomorrow. My nipples will freeze into modern art, but I'll wear a light shirt anyway. The lakes near the forest only lightly solidify over these years, so I can't go skating with my wool slippers. Maybe I'll run a few miles and then fish, I dunno. There's ale waiting for me when night comes, just it an a few good books at the local bar. It's the 2nd floor of a restaurant owned by the same guy. Long but narrow, about 60 by 15 feet, it'd remind you of those slightly laid back floors of a club or coffeehouse, usually where they stow the business suits and quiet types. Intelligent techno or slower alternative talks alongside the patrons in a heavy whisper. On one side there's a full bar, while the other has a bar-like pylon with a beautifully glazed marble-top. They have what I can only describe as tea lights over them: itty bitty blue shades with a little bulb. The rest of the place has upturned red, purple, and blue bulbs highlighting the fascinating air-conditioning ducts and pipes; I'm not joking, the thing is like some python doubling in on itself. The tables can be sparsely populated or jam-packed, but there's something about those tea lights that brings people like me there. We get all sorts, really: people who just read (i.e. me), migrant farm workers, businessmen from out of town, local punk crowd, the odd gangsta every now and again. I've had more guys check out my ass there than any other place in existence. Not that I mind drunks or anyone giving me attention, just that my ass is not a deposit slot. There's a set of canvased paintings hung here and there, with a bald guy looking thoughtful on a porch swing. He doesn't look at my ass. Not sure how I feel about that. To digress, I get to handle the mice a little bit later so they get used to me. They really seem to dig my finger. I guess I can't blame them: it really is a nice finger. And they're all males, too. Maybe there's a pattern going on here... |
