at least it’s not sociology

08/06/2005
8:38 AM

Five minute: And that damn smell of burning plastic is coming through in stereo. What will this much coffee accomplish? We’ll get up and get on. We’ll see what the length and height and width. We’ll swallow the pill. And if it doesn’t last long, what the hell, it was fun while it lasted. Turn it up, that’s the Pixies. If you lean across the dashboard and turn the knobs on the radio, the noise changes and the scenery becomes immaculate. Plus, I can look down your shirt. There was never a time when he wasn’t here, so stop trying to figure out when it started. Embrace the inner bastard and discover ourselves in the throws of the pitcher of margaritas. Welcome down to the basement of the cabin in the woods, built into the side of the hill. There’s a cave down there and it leads down, down, down to the forgotten places. I hate it that evil comes into the stories, but that’s the only thing that keeps it interesting. My favorite Harry Potters were Year 1 and Year 3. But that’s just me. I want innocents fighting the forces of darkness without being touched by it. But that cheapens the tale. Tragedy is what gives a story weight. - 8:44 AM

Five minute: Wait, wait, where are you going? We haven’t read the magazines and filled out the quizzes to see if we’re a love match. I was mean to a bum yesterday. I felt bad about it for about twenty minutes. Around until the time when another bum called me a humbug for not giving him any change. What the hell. I might have slept in a tent in the woods for a couple of months, but I never stooped to begging from strangers. You’re a drunkard. Good for you. Way to give society the finger. Now fund it your own damn alternative life-style. Get out of the city before it makes you hard. Too late. I dream of the country. Not at night. Those visions are still chiefly concerning me getting caught and yelling but not really being able to get free. I should try some of that controlled dreaming. Yeah, right, that is to crap as the bad hair preachers are to crap. On the odd good dream note, I think that the surfing dreams that I had this morning had girls. Hot ones. Gotta love that. Then we get up and get out and get on the plane and jump out when it’s crossing the deep forest. I’ll take the money and run. I’ll be the laughing bad man. Someday. And someday I’ll just get out of the city and find a little place with a garden and trees and physically distant neighbors. They may have jumped up my mutant E powers, but I’m still, at core, I. Ha, and there’s a double meaning in that. Even when we come to realize how little of a science psychology is, it still gives up fun metaphors. And at least it’s not sociology. - 8:54 AM

Ten minute: Silly communists, don’t you realize that we’ll always fight you with our love of our fellow man? (singular, but possibly “woman” – original text difficult to decipher) We walked down the sidewalk to the edge of the marsh and then walked the boardwalk to the beach. The air smelled of salty mud and comfort. I miss you, Cape Cod. Kisses to your bookstores and cheap seafood shacks. Oh, and I don’t want to forget the big windmill store with all the cheap stuff inside. That was awesome. Bzzzt. The alien lasers only affected organic materials. Bzzzt. There goes another rubber tree. Bzzzt. There goes another rubber tree. Bzzzt. There goes another rubber tree plant. Driving the hills above Cooperstown, we had no knowledge of the brewery. Those bastards had taken away God’s great gift. So we take it back. The problem being, I didn’t do it until I was far, far away. It’s not any fun to give someone the finger when they can’t see it. Unless it’s a joke between others. So, here it is. I’m giving you the finger, HCA. God gave us beer and I partake with a merry heart. But that’s, like, so twelve-year-old. Oh, but I forgot. I’m twelve as well as twenty-nine. So. There it is. Not a stitch of sense in the whole thing. Just this long line of long lines. The clouds outside have formed a rough square. What is God trying to tell me? Let me see what it says in the Strong’s. Yep. I thought so. In English, it says, “yeah,” but in Greek is says, “nah.” Ha. Trapped the bastards under my glass. I look at her and she melts. I walk there and back. I take it up and put it down. I fly and learn to fight better. Bend and get bent. Be and be haive. Bigger than the fall-down. Better than the man in the cocktail bar. I walk by in flip-flops, feeling the weight of the groceries in my deltoids. Ding, ding. Fight’s over. TKO. It’s still better than losing. Except for the guy that lost, everybody’s a winner! - 9:10 AM