1147
The Sleeptalker didn't go home to mama. I saw him across the room at the Black Hole engaged in an animated conversation with someone I didn't recognize. I thought back to a recent conversation with him, when I said I only go there, get my mat, lay myself down and go to sleep, don't interact with anyone. He claimed he couldn't do that, people wouldn't leave him alone. He didn't look to me like he was trying to be "left alone". He's always an actor, a comedian, and even with an audience of one, he can't resist taking the stage. Then, naughty boy, he seemed to be pilfering something from a nearby mat whose owner wasn't there. Stealing from someone at the Black Hole is decidedly off-limits for me and I will not accept it from any of my friends, either. Okay, evidently it was, so far as I could see, only a rolling paper and some tobacco. If someone was dumb enough to leave his tobacco stash out in the open, he deserved to lose a little of it. (It does happen. I've even seen people stupid enough to take off their watch and leave it beside the mat.) Even so, I disapprove, not that it will matter much to the Sleeptalker.The Sleeptalker and the stranger went out, presumably to smoke the pilfered tobacco. The stranger returned after awhile, the Sleeptalker evidently staying downstairs. Then I realized who the "stranger" was. Mondo!
Not long ago, the Sleeptalker told me Mondo had a new place, much nicer than the last one. Mondo, who even though we all agree is the "craziest" of us all, does have a definite talent for finding living quarters. But he, of all of them, has most drastically changed from the early Hacienda days. His hair is too long, forms a kind of "afro", not in the least flattering. The Sleeptalker, even when he looks as wrecked as he did when I last saw him, is still attractive and highly desireable. Mondo has slipped right off that scale. Little wonder I didn't recognize him.
Meanwhile, my feline friends at the secluded grove are once again having to suffer a period of "human" food. On Wednesday, I used foodstamps to buy them cans of herring "fish steaks", thought I'd try them myself so bought an extra can. They weren't pleased, I was even less so. What hideously bland fish. On Thursday I took them Alaskan pink salmon. Her Ladyship turned up her nose, went to sit on the wall directly above me, little paws hanging slightly over the wall, and gave me a reproachful look. One of her children ate the salmon, the other didn't appear. Lady Grey is better with the reproachful look than I am with the "beggars can't be choosers" look, but she eventually yielded, condescended to eat a bit of the salmon.
Veron hasn't appeared since Monday so I assume he is connected with other food providers on campus.
All my children .....
1148
I was surprised when Veron didn't come to the secluded grove all week, thought once he'd discovered a source of free lunch he'd be a regular. But then I found where his usual turf seems to be. A university employee leaves food there every morning, Monday-Friday. So, okay, Veron is a weekend visitor, and did visit on both Saturday and Sunday.Having a difficult time with my feline friends. For the first time ever, I arrived after the day of Alaskan pink salmon to find substantial scraps left uneaten. Ungrateful wretches! I suspect Lady Grey has found alternative sources of food (possibly even from Veron's benefactor), otherwise she couldn't be so finicky. I considered giving them up altogether, but how could I ignore the plaintive meows from one of her children when I arrive in the secluded grove and he (or she, not sure yet) awaits food?
Irritation and annoyance. The "keywords" for the season of the Aries Full Moon. I had to constantly discipline myself not to react too strongly to things which really weren't that important but were just irritating or annoying, or both.
There was at least a little blessing on Saturday night at the Black Hole. It started with "annoying", when some old man collapsed on the floor next to my mat, not even having gotten a mat for himself, and turned out to be a thrasher. First his arm over me. I reacted indignantly, he said "sorry, sorry", but not long after I had his foot over my leg. I moved. Thank you, Dame Fortune. The mat next to where I moved was empty but when I woke in the early morning hours and looked over there ..... ah, an angel. I've never seen such a sweet young man in the Black Hole before (and I am not forgetting you-know-who). He had taken off his shirt and jeans, was sleeping in rather flambouyant boxer shorts. Such a nice body. Late teens, I'd guess. Well, that is a rarity at the Black Hole, and I was duly grateful.
Alas, one night Mondo got up from his mat and walked out shirtless. No, he is definitely off the desirable list. A shame to see such a young man deteriorate physically the way he has. Unbelievable I once thought him even more attractive than the Sleeptalker (although, granted, that was only for a very short time, even then.)
The question about pre-strike, post-strike routine turns out to be neither. One reason is the erratic weather we've had. Periods of delightful, breezy sunshine interrupted by squallish rain. Twice I had to seek shelter from the secluded grove at mid-day, and then take up residence at the Rainy Day Bench in the mall when threatening weather arrived again before sunset. So neither the beach park nor the Sunset Bench have prevailed.
The nice thing about the Rainy Day Bench is that no one knows about me being there. And in an "irritating, annoying" time, it is far better to just be alone.
1149
... and may you stay forever young.That syrupy tune came to mind when a reader asked: Do you feel sad when you see the Bad Boys growing older? Especially if not harmoniously? No, on the contrary, it has been a pleasure to watch them mature, not only the Bad Boys but some of the lads on campus. And then, too, they will always seem young to me by comparison with myself. Even in the unlikely event I share the longevity karma of my grandmother and mother, live to celebrate the Sleeptalker's 40th birthday, I'm sure I will still love him and wouldn't be at all surprised to still desire him. Of course, he'll probably look to be about 30.
What is sad, though, is to see a once very attractive young man deteriorate into a sloppy fat guy even before reaching 30.
This has been a not too unpleasant x equals time, money in hand for books and beer and tobacco (although the roll-it-yourself variety). I even treated Lady Grey and family to their favorite cheap catfood on Monday. I decided to call the smaller of the children Thimble and her big brother, Andrew. There's certainly no longer any difficulty in telling them apart. Andrew is so much larger, will soon be the size of his mother at the rate he's going.
Feathers flew on Monday. Lady Grey came the closest yet to getting one of the big spotted-neck doves. It did only just escape, but left quite a few feathers behind. If that bird has any sense at all, it will move to another area.
Despite the relative comfort of the pre-Third-Wednesday days, there's still some lingering annoyance and irritation in the air. Some of it is from online life. I'm fairly pissed off with Cheyne who can be such a snotty queen, considered dropping the link to his journal. I don't know how someone writing these things can say "you don't know me" (unless they've been writing fiction all the time). The game, too, has been annoying, with that miserable Englishwoman throwing power fits and the Sleeptalker absent. I did try another mud for a time but there's no way to turn off color in there and I find it very distracting, being an old-fashioned b+w mudder. So I tried the alternative of starting a new character in Seventh Circle, can play without all the baggage of my history there.
The beautiful lad in the boxer shorts hasn't appeared again at the Black Hole. Perhaps he'd just come into town for the weekend and was taking advantage of a free place to stay. Mondo must get there very early because he's been in the same spot every night, but no sign of the Sleeptalker who may have, after all, gone home to mama. The place is filling up again already. SocSec doesn't make as much difference as the welfare payments. I guess we old folks are less likely to splurge on hotel rooms.
Jonathan Cainer said: You will soon be freed from a restriction. That doesn't mean though, that you ought to go wild! I'll try not to.
1149a
... she said she'd been watching, and there were far too many overbites on local television to be accounted for by simple jaw problems."Why is that?", she'd asked. She seemed really interested.
Lucas said, "You don't know?"
"No. I don't," she said. She looked at him skeptically. "You're gonna tell me it's something dirty?"
"It's because it makes guys think about blow jobs," Lucas said.
"You're lying to me," Weather said, one hand on her hip.
"Honest to God," Lucas said. "That's what it is."
"This society is out of luck," Weather said. "I'm sorry, but we're going down the tubes. Blow jobs."
John Sandford: Night Prey
That certainly got a laugh. I was born with an overbite. (Did I mention "karma" recently?) As a child I would put my upper front teeth on a direct line with my lower front teeth and wish I could somehow get them to stay that way permanently. Of course, that would have meant that my molars never touched, so chewing would have been a significant problem.
But, then, with Sandford's explanation, I guess I'd have to rethink it as a blessing.
1150
"Nice tee-shirt," I said to Angelo. "I stole it for him," said the PL, proudly. As I said in a newsgroup today, I met two of my young ice-smoking friends yesterday and have to confess that I think it rather charming how they live such an almost stereotyped "middle class" life, while stealing to get the daily fix(es), getting new clothes, eating cookies from a shop in the mall ...My own little Bonnie and Clyde.
Angelo asked if I'd seen Tanioka. I told him how surprised I'd been one day last week when I'd gone downhill from campus to get my lunchtime beer and had seen Tanioka asleep on a bus-stop bench. Tanioka so rarely comes into campus territory. I had wondered if he'd walk uphill to campus, perhaps to borrow money, but he didn't appear.
On the bus to the check-cashing place, after (om Ganesh) Third Wednesday's mailbox proved to be Magic, the Snorer's lady got on the bus, sat next to me after a warm greeting. She had just come from her "anger management session". Evidently the Snorer is also going to such sessions, but separately. Indirectly she told me they've lost custody of their child, hope to regain it next year, are now allowed three-times-a-week visitations, apparently conditioned on attending these management sessions. The Snorer also has kidney stones, the second time in his life he has been plagued by this hideous physical affliction, so they've been spending time with doctors.
Rocky got on the bus, said nothing to either of us.
Rocky and Angelo are going the opposite direction, losing weight. They both look quite thin, especially Rocky.
But for those heading otherwise ..... it was inevitable. I got to the Black Hole a bit later than I should have in the second half of the month, saw only one vacant bit of floor between two empty mats, picked up a mat and headed to it. I was asleep when I felt a hand touching mine. Even in the Black Hole, that's enough to wake me up. The hand belonged to Mondo, who appeared to be asleep on the mat next to me.
The thrill is over, but the melody lingers on ...
Meanwhile, can someone please tell Andrew not to bite the hand that feeds him. He bit me! He gets so excited about food arriving. On Tuesday he leaped off the wall into the secluded grove. (It's about an eight-foot wall.) And then he incredibly scampered straight back up the wall, clinging into crevices with his claws. On Wednesday when I arrived with food, Lady Grey was absent but the children were eagerly awaiting me. And while I was trying to empty out the first can of (catfood) "turkey and giblets", Andrew, overeagerly nipped at my hand.
Same hand that Mondo touched.
1151
What are you doing here so early, I asked the Sleeptalker, who arrived on campus about 9:30.I came to get my dick sucked, he said.
He was sitting at the computer next to me, read that. "I was just joking," he said. Maybe so. It was strange, I'd been thinking a lot about him in the past few days, even more than usual, and was really wanting him. When you wish upon a star ... and the wish was fulfilled. Twice.
"Was that your son with you yesterday?" asked the cashier the next morning at the cafe by Hamilton. Please, I don't need incest added to my list of sins.
The Sleeptalker had been in Waianae, briefly had a job working for someone building a house. But he had a squabble with the boss and walked out. I told him that when you work for someone, you just have to put up with bullshit now and then.
He looked absolutely wonderful, the best in a long time, and was in a very good mood, laughing often and being flirtatious in the delightful way he can be. The game was down, so I bought him breakfast, then walked downhill to get beer and catfood. When we finished the beer we checked to see if the game was back up. It was, so we played for awhile, then I left to feed the cats and the Sleeptalker joined me in the grove a little later. A young man was sitting on a nearby bench eating a sandwich from the Subway shop which recently opened on campus. The Sleeptalker said that sandwich really looked good, so I bought him one and we went to the Garden, shared a couple of beers (he didn't have his ID with him so had to drink from mine).
I should have joined him in eating a sandwich. Too much beer, too little food = horrendous hangover the next morning.
I know you don't understand but I do love you.
I love you, too.
Thank you.
1151a
I love thee to the breadth and height my soul can reach ...I don't think there's any more beautiful phrase about this funny thing called love. There's a big problem about a magical day like Thursday with the Sleeptalker. Life is so fucking boring after it.
Okay, okay, I know, I can't have every day in the rest of my life that special. Not a chance.
And I guess that even if I die and go to "heaven", the days there wouldn't always be that special either?
1152
Heaven.The Black Hole (as far from that concept as one can get) was, as is often the case, unusually rowdy on Saturday night. I suppose it was my comment on "heaven" in the last Tale that inspired my thoughts when I got my mat and collapsed into as much isolation as I could (not too successfully) achieve.
I was still in my teens when I met my first true "non-believer". His idea was, probably still is, that we are born, live this life, and then utterly cease to exist. Period.
At the time I thought it rather horrifying, and I can understand why our distant ancestors would have tried to replace that idea with something else. If that's the model, why bother to worry about such stuff as the Ten Commandments?
But the older I get, the more I find the Judeo-Christian model almost as horrifying. Heaven/Hell, for eternity. Either way it has always sounded extremely boring to me. The Roman Catholic addition of "purgatory" is a nice refinement. At least you get a slightly better option of suffering a bit before you go on to eternal bliss. That thought made me wonder if I'm trying to get through my purgatory time already, staying at the Black Hole.
Not totally a crazy idea.
But I certainly do prefer the Eastern model of one life after another, our curses and blessings dependent upon karma, what we have done and left undone in the previous life. Yes, that one makes the most sense to me.
With the decided advantage of getting to meet the Sleeptalker next time, as maybe I have before.
When I got to the secluded grove on Saturday, both Lady Grey and Andrew were busily stalking the birds, the first time I have seen Andrew down in the grove. She went the lazy way, to the end of the wall where it's not so high, to rush to the feeding place. He, once again, went directly up the wall. Amazing how he can climb that. And he did it again on Sunday when he was sitting up there, spotted me walking toward the grove and excitedly rushed down to meet me, then straight back up the wall.
He certainly has become the dominant member of the family. One of the cans of food is his until he has eaten as much of it as he wants. Then mama and sibling can partake of his leftovers, after they've shared the other one.
It's a delicate balance, sometimes. On Sunday, when Lady Grey was, after lunch, sneaking up on the little zebra doves sitting around me (often on the bench beside me), I made a subtle warning sign, just in case they hadn't noticed her. I don't want her to get mad at me for spoiling her fun, but I also don't want her committing murder at my feet, so to speak. Veron was there stalking on Sunday, too, but he's more interested in the fat spotted-neck doves.
Even though the tradewinds are yet again blocked, the weather has been quite pleasant, with gentle winds from the west. I went to the beach park on Friday, was entertained by a fight between Lady Moana and another homeless woman. Grab hair, give a few elbow punches to the face, mixed with a number of slaps. I told Lady M afterwards that it was better than the so-called "wrestling" on television. No idea what the squabble was about. Lord Moana just grinned and shrugged as he walked by after the fracas. On Saturday there was a more serious fight over in Joe Guam's area, police and ambulance called. Too far away for me to see what happened, but Joe stopped briefly to tell me it had been a fight, with one man beating another with a large stick.
I still wonder, if the Christians are right, if I'm not already in hell. I guess that would make the Sleeptalker a Fallen Angel.
1153
I do love synchronicity. Just after I wrote about purgatory in the last Tale, I found one of those little comic books published by fundamentalist Christian groups. This one explored the question "Are Catholics Christians?" Naturally, its conclusion was negative and one of the arguments for the "no" answer was purgatory. If it's not in the Bible, it's not "Christian" and if you believe it, you're not Christian, either. Purgatory isn't. Well, I agree it's a mystery but then I don't recall ever having learned just how the notion came into existence, and this comic provided no enlightenment on the question. It rather foolishly weakened its argument, overall, by including Papal infallibility as another example of why RC's aren't Christian, making it appear that the infallibility idea applies to everything. I know, it's pretty lame even in its applicability only to spiritual matters and I've never believed it. Never believed in transubstantiation, either, another one of the arguments against RC's.I guess I'm a lousy Roman Catholic, but by these people's definition, a better Christian.
At the Black Hole that evening, a young blonde fellow settled next to me quite late in the evening. He was shouting across to a friend about how excited he'd gotten earlier when he realized we said merry Christmas when Mary was the mother of Jesus. I considered further exciting him by asking him to marry me, but he was too busy continuing his rant with a bunch of stuff not far removed from that comic book. Lord, spare me your enthusiasts.
The Cat Lady had another grand success, captured Andrew on Sunday evening. So I missed his enthusiastic greeting on Monday, was grateful she'd emailed me to explain his absence. But there he was on Tuesday, a bit subdued but with a good appetite. Can't blame him for being subdued, must have been very traumatic to have been captured, taken off to the hospital and had unmentionable things done to his body before being returned to his usual habitat. With a notch in his little ear.
Certainly nothing subdued about his ability to communicate with facial expressions, a talent he has no doubt inherited from his mama. He was munching away on his can of food. Her Ladyship arrived a bit late for lunch, was sharing Thimble's portion, then cast an eye on Andrew's. He clearly said, with appropriate sarcasm, "Yes, Madame?" She backed off. Now why couldn't I have had that successful a time with my own Mama?
I woke in a fairly good mood, then cast my eye over the October calendar. Oooops, I have spent far too much money already, considering how long it is until the next Third Wednesday. I foresee an unpleasant x equals time in November. So the mood went down a bit, then improved when the Sleeptalker appeared in the game. He didn't say where he was playing from, but I assume it wasn't on campus since he didn't appear later. Nonetheless, we had a few amusing exchanges which was more than I could have expected after our last encounter, intimate enough to usually send him running for weeks.
Speaking of Mamas and Gods, a tiny zebra dove appeared in the secluded grove, just barely beyond the point where it should not have left the nest. It was evidently looking for its Mama, but its Mama wasn't looking for it. One of its possible-cousins yanked it up by the back of the neck to fling it away! It cowered, stumbled over under a bench. When another one of the fat little bastids, fat from my frequent feeding, attacked it, I interrupted with outrage. I fear that little bird hasn't long to live, though. And the rest of the buggers are banned from free food for a week. At least.
So excuse me, dear All-Merciful and All-Loving "God", if I spit in your eye should I have the occasion to meet You. Why "create" a living being if that is to be its fate?
1154
Who needs tv soaps? In this little town, in this age of "blogging", we get it all. We have Cheyne and his ex-lover sniping at each other. Well, okay, Cheyne does most of the bitchy sniping. The ex is more the sentimentally nostalgic type. Then we have, yet again (for the umpteenth time) young Cheyne finding a new dreamboat. Dreamboat, alas, needs some time to discover whether he really wants Cheyne or not. (At that point I would have told "Hairy Arms", take all the time you need, honey, don't call us, we'll call you. When hell freezes over.) But no, Cheyne lingers on, fills his little Palm-gadget with pictures of Hairy Arms instead of getting a teddy bear. Now we have another very cute, even younger fellow who seems to have captured the Dreamboat. Unless Hairy Arms decides to tell this one, too, he needs more time to decide whether he really wants him?Stay tuned to these channels. And where is Erica when we need her?
Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... (hmmm, can't remember where that phrase came from, but I think it's from a late-50's hit song) ... or, I mean, secluded grove. The ladies must have had a Female Empowerment Meeting. When I arrived with food on Wednesday, Thimble spotted me first and made a dash for the usual feeding place, Andrew close on her heels, Lady Grey not far behind. Andrew, as usual, started his wonderfully touching serenade of plaintive meows. Mama gave him a big slap on the head. I scolded her, got an expression like, "whose brat is this anyway?" I emptied the first can and Thimble took it over, gave poor Andrew another slap when he tried to share! So Andrew had to gently creep around and share Mama's lunch until Thimble decided she'd had enough and left the rest to him. What unsympathetic female felines, considering what poor Andrew has been through in recent days.
The zebra doves got zilch, nada, nothing.
Bush2 may be coming to campus tomorrow. I shall try to keep myself at a considerable distance.
1155
A reader, confessing to being one of those who think death is the end of our existence, wrote: But if I don't believe in it, I like the idea of reincarnation, the idea that a game can be played over several lifes, with, of course, improving results. Like the Panther/Sleeptalker dance, for example. (as to myself, I'm afraid I'd be reincarnated in a chocolate bar, to pay for my sins).If we came back as inanimate objects, I said, I would probably be a large green (malt liquor) bottle, Angelo would definitely be a glass pipe, but I wasn't sure what the Sleeptalker would be.
Oh no, you would be a book. One of those we call in France the "usuels", that are in the main room of the libraries and are handled by most people. Wouldn't you like that ? Think of all these young students needing to read something in you. (of course, there would be some fat elderly women, too... That's for the sinful part of your present life)
I like that. Even better, the Sleeptalker: I know what the Sleeptalker evokes to me. Not the real person, whom I do not know, but the Sleeptalker as he appears in the Tales. He makes me think of a kaleidoscope. You know, these things where you look at small fragments of glass and other things through a special tube. The pain of having one's soul broken into pieces, and the beauty it can show, if looked at the right way, like through your eyes.
That's wonderful.
As often happens, that kaleidoscopic fellow was the star of Seventh Circle on Wednesday even though he wasn't playing. As I reported awhile ago, after his most recent suicidal tantrum someone stole his name, a character he has played for all the years we've been in there. I've been trying to get it back for him and in a very complex and amusing set of negotiations, finally managed to get it.
There is an auctioneer in the game and last weekend there was a flurry of people auctioning things, the selection getting more and more bizarre as people showed off some of their unusual and exotic items. Most of them were offered with a deliberately outrageous opening minimum bid, just boasting of owning the thing instead of really intending to sell it. A player offered a "fat greasy mullet" (which in Monty Python style, was to be worn on the head). He forgot to put a minimum on it and so I bought it for about two million. He immediately tried to buy it back from me but I teased and said I wanted to walk around for awhile with a fish on my head.
So when the player who stole the Sleeptalker's name appeared, I again tried to persuade him to give it to me so I could return it. When he asked what I'd give for it, I said I know you don't need gold, how about a fat greasy mullet? "No, that's my mullet!" the original owner protested. The Boss Lady, who can be quite amusing when she's in a good mood, got into the act. It seems the name-stealer recently tried to sell some of his characters on eBay [?!]. This violates the rules and all those characters were deleted from the game. So she offered to return one of those names to him if he would give me the Sleeptalker's character and if I gave her the mullet. After some general discussion by most people playing (including a couple of replies she forced people to make urging the exchange), the deal was done. And she returned the mullet to its original owner.
I ask you, is all this something a sane man of my age should be spending his time on? Well, why not ...
I hope I don't came back as a fat greasy mullet.
the tales