The patience of Gibraltar zig-zags along in the dark, squealing by bright black-on-yellow skid arrows. I am Jack's eight ball of interesting twists.

To pick up and off again, I had a good sleep on Sistercookie's green couch. I was too damned lazy to bother folding the thing out, and just drunk enough not to care.

The advantage of this re-location situation is that Seester's house is stocked with Gaelic porters, allowing me switch from the Guiness to some Harp we bought. I have had more to drink this past week and a half than in the last 2 years. That's more a comment on my monetary, not moral, situation.

Speaking of situations, this re-location one finally snorted a few lines of sanity. Steven was calm, Dork was calm, so we sped back to Dork's place to test the waters. It was a Sid Vicious Hallmark card more or less; the hoons (dogs) were anxiously loving and Aimee Mann sweetly rambled on the stereo. You could say it was a wedding cake made in reverse, with the core of the sweet reunion being a visual I caught: I was stepping through the hallway, moving to the fridge, when I saw Steven and Dork on the bed. Steven was facing me, eyes closed, holding onto Dork. The room was dark, the hallway likewise, and I could see the tendons of his arms. The moment passed by quietly; so did I.

----

Soundtrack: "Flames" by Vast, or "Real Bad News" by Aimee Mann

But love and sanity are fleeting fuck buddies. With the night and a good rest came a day of more shit going down. Money problems crept in this time, along the the accusations that Dork was covetting straight man flesh. I hadn't seen anything resembling insatiable cock-gobbling furor like that, or even any phone calls to suggest it. I was worried about Steven, but that was more a passing thought as Seester and her husband came, picked us up, and drove us away.

Still in transit, Dork's head swayed and smoked a cigarette. He still giggled with every other sentence, but I could tell some heavy shit was brewing and stewing up in there. I patted his shoulder. He emphatically said it was done at some points, then slightly relented, in the way drops of heavy dye fade away even in clear water. But you could still see the threads of red there; I could still feel them, hear them in his voice. He mentioned he'd have to send the animals to the pound if he broke things off. That immensely disturbed me, since I'd been accepted into the Clan of the Cave Hoon. I asked if I could take Bugweeeeee, the auburn copper-eyed cat, to which Dork gave an 'of course' and smiled.

I guess she'd be my first handed-down animal. For Dork's sake, though, I hope he's sure and resolved when he does or doesn't give me the cat. 17 year situations deserve plenty of sleep and alcohol to work through.

I'm glad he's holding up as he is.

----

Soundtrack: "Before I'm Dead" by the Kidney Thieves, with a chaser of "Bittersweet Symphony" by The Verve

But back to my selfish little corner of Me.

The last few days have been a combination of drinking out on the deck while Dork or Seester smoke, drinking while Dork or Seester smoke in the upstairs computer room, or drinking in the kitchen while poking and proding arabic food that continues to give up its' high-cost rewards; I love left-overs that way.

This morning was a highlight for the photography business. Seester and Dork were cool with indulging my hobby, you see, and decided to take me around downtown Detroit so I could do some scout-and-snap shenanigans. Downtown Detroit itself was smaller than I expected, but it more than made up for it in the grimy between-the-lines filth and decay, or the ironically pleasant clown face of Windsor giving us a visual hand-job in bright neon colors. I wanted to swim across the damned river (and get my stomach pumped accordingly) just to get some shots of that Canadian cocktease.

I had to settle for less impressive fluorescent niblets. We eventually ducked down a side-street near some corporate buildings. They parked, I walked. I found my way down this dead-end street which showcased some abandoned warehouse. It looked down from its fractured spectacles, with cancer-spotted brick skin peeling away in whole patches. The doors had been welded shut and chained, a tiny 'keep out' sign, probably trying to distract you from the horror of metals and dusty red inside. Its breath knocked me back to the street. Dogs were barking, cars were parking, with the wind flaying warmth from my skin. The thing had a line of spittle around its feet, this tiny river of trash and sewage water that crunched against my boots. I photographed the bastard and turned my back on it.

Seester came up in her car. I was very, very confused. Had security somewhere wangled out their wanks to indicate that we couldn't park in an empty parking lot? Whatever the reason, she was suddenly there, mentioning this was private property. I didn't get the instant urging to move on. I'd done far more illegal shit than this minor bit of trepass. They didn't even have a fence up to block the area--or the very public street leading up to it--so feigning ignorance would have worked.

That wasn't the case with going into the nearby park, though. My hands were frozen slabs by that time, just like my lower jaw. It was so bad that I slipped on these body condom-like gloves for protection. Trying to shoot with 3 inches of padded skiing gloves wasn't working, so my right hand occasionally had to deal with being slapped around by the weather.

The digs were atrocious. I was off my game that night--granted--but I couldn't piece out much of anything to photograph. I did get one or two decent shots off, though. Good thing, too. The plant to the side of me was getting slightly more active, and suddenly Seester's was using the horn. I didn't get the insistence or the parking situation still, but fuck it, they were indulging my artist thing.

Dork had long since crashed in the back of the car, wedged between the back and front seats; he was blissfully snoring away. Seester seemed somewhat annoyed, but that seemingly sloughed off as she took me around Grosse Point. I loved the movie, and the city itself was cool in that upper class way. I remember mentioning in the dark, passing by some of the waterfront houses, that I couldn't imagine what to do with all that acreage. Fuck, I wouldn't know what to do with the house Dork has right now.

----

So, here we are at today.

We've got some plans to see Dork's mom today, move some furniture, get some food. That's been put on hold for the time being, since Seester's husband insists we don't take the sedan out by ourselves. And here I am perching, writing, as Seester swaps yakking with a laughing black man outside and Dork sleeps on the couch-bed behind me. VAST screams through the speakers.

I think a porter or two would complete the picture while I connect the dots.

(P.S. Beer for breakfast--and in particular, Harp--ain't half bad. It is liquid bread, after all, and it beats the piss out of Roman Meal)