Albertine
Yeah, things were different then. I know, I know: you hear that every day -- but that doesn’t make it any less true! I can remember just walking through people’s yards and even into their houses without giving it a second thought. Why not? What was going to happen? What was anyone going to say or do about it? Taking something that wasn’t yours without asking, well even then that was an entirely different matter. We all knew that was wrong -- or at least taboo, not to give us too much credit for moral distinctions -- and that it wasn’t just a matter of getting caught or not.
I think the first time I caught a glimmer that things were changing, that it wasn’t going to be this way forever, was when Wally went AWOL on a mitochondrial maneuver repressing sing along tendencies with a fair chance of eventual success, yet the gradual reluctance of any thought to be fully fleshed out in either this world or the next led to unmistakable signs of not only attrition but if not contrition at least a remorse that led inexorably to the time out of mind statute being implemented by a renegade branch of koala-clubbers craning to be met for whatever the allowances of the day let on to by way of -- you could say that...
The unquestioned champion on this way of thinking was Lester and he could only be called morose if nobody was looking -- which wasn’t often. To put a different spin on it would be too kind to all concerned: it’s just the way it was, take it, period; there was no chance or even option to leave it.
Someone went to France once, but I honestly can’t remember who... thoughtful though the caress was, it was still absent the essential virtue.
No, you’re absolutely right: focus was never one of my strong points.
So, that day it was raining really hard, and I remember getting onto the bus with an almost overwhelming sense of gratitude for public transportation; it just seemed to me at that moment to be the single most definitive aspect of civilization. Imagine: there you are, standing in the pouring rain, when WHOOSH up pulls a clean well lighted transport that takes you -- with the simple flash of a pass -- out of the muck of nature and delivers you to the hub and center of what’s happening. I remember thinking at the time that this is what we're fighting for, this is what we can't afford to lose.
Yeah, the text just builds and builds. Everything is part of it. No, it’s not infinite, that’s the whole point: it’s being built, and we are being by building it.
When I finished the book, it made me crazy because I didn’t want it to end. I mean, now what am I going to do? Reality was a big step down from where I was reading. So, I decided that I’d continue with the book where it left off! I thought to myself, “why not?” And really: why not. Just keep it going... anything to keep the world away.
Right. And so George -- y’know, it’s just like him -- calls up at the last possible minute and cancels the whole thing. And I’m like, “George, I can’t believe you! You always do this! Why do I even bother trying?” And George is, “I’m sorry, I just didn’t feel up for it...” Just like always. And just like always he goes on and on about how he’d rather just spend time with me alone, and how I’m all that he cares about, not all the trappings, and I’m like, “ But George, I care about the trappings, and if you cared about me half as much as you say you do you’d try to care about them for my sake!” and then he’s back to, “But that stuff just drags you down in the long run it’s always a disappointment.” 'The long run.' The nerve of that guy! What about now, that’s when we’re alive! Now. I don’t care about 'the long run’ -- well, that’s obviously not true, everyone cares about the long run, just not at the expense of the here and now. That’s all I ask! It’s not like I’m asking for the moon!
I know, I know: Let it go. I do. I have. I will. It’s takes its toll, though.
The tree. The three. Old man. Sun tan. Romeo rodeo radio. On the way to Baltimore, three cats. Flim flam. Flat foot floogie. Floy joy, floy joy, floy joy. Falstaff for fools.
I was reading Dick Tracy comics the other day, and let me tell you: he loves his job more than life itself. I know his kind. Don’t mess with him in any way shape or form. No matter which way you come at him he’ll grind you up and spit you out. He’s part of the machine.
So, what did Angie say? Well, I can’t say as that I’m surprised. I read her like a book, but a book I just can’t understand: it’s either over my head or whoever wrote it has a screw loose somewhere; I don’t know which.
Dodo Marmarosa.
I try my best not to fall into junkie behavior. It’s harder than it sounds. We all do it because it’s so easy for us to fool ourselves into thinking we’re not. You’re kidding yourself if you think you’ve never done it. Believe me, you have. It happens when the groove you found yourself in -- and that’s usually how it is too, you just wake up one day and find yourself in it; you can’t really recall how exactly you got into it and you don’t think you ever actually decided to be where you are, but rather it’s just a case of, hey! there you are -- gets worn just that little bit too deep and suddenly it takes an extra effort to get out of it. You can’t just step in and out of it any more. Now, you’ve got to climb up to get out. And if you don’t try to get out, but just keep on wearing down the groove, you’ll just keep getting yourself in deeper and deeper, and if you just keep going and ignore any and all warning signs, well then you just might find yourself in so deep that you can never get out on your own, but need someone to throw you a life line. Failing that, you’re stuck for the rest of your days, cuz’ no one can scale a sheer wall. Maybe that’s the secret appeal of Spider-Man, I don’t know... No matter what it is, you’re the worst kind of junkie if you persist in lying to yourself that you’re not. Yep, that’s what they all say: acknowledgment is the first step to self recovery.
Yeah, I remember this time Angie and I went canoeing together. What? Hey, this was a long time ago. Look, people change, y’know. Anyway, it started out great. We had two six-packs in a ice laden cooler, and we just went with the flow, y’know? Just laid back and drank and talked, and talked. There was a cool breeze, ducks swam by, geese flew overhead... I mean, it doesn’t get any more relaxing than this. But then the beer was gone, clouds rolled in, mosquitoes came out and we had to paddle all the way back upstream. My head started to pound from all the beer and sun, the mosquitoes started biting, and Angie started complaining that I wasn’t paddling hard enough, or I was getting us stuck in weeds, or this or that, and the buzz wore off and I got in a bad mood real quick. Oh, we made it back all right, but we were both in a foul mood and didn’t speak to each other for weeks after that. This despite the fact that we had just had the greatest couple hours ever. What’s the lesson here, that’s what I want to know.
I thought for awhile that getting a dog would be the way to go. Man’s best friend and all that. Someone to come home to. Share time with. An end to loneliness. Then I met George. Speaking of whom... Where the hell is he? I hate worrying. Once I start, the anxiety level just keeps rising, and then the unbidden images start in, you know, the burning wreckage, the body under the car, the body lying in a pool of blood with a bullet through the heart... I really start to lose it. And then, of course, I fly into a rage when he finally does come in, not even knowing he was late, not even having the slightest idea of the time of day, just totally abstracted in some sort of ...I don’t know - God only knows what! Anyway, I’m glad you’re here to keep me company. It keeps me focused and I won’t fall into that deranged state of worry. God, I know. How pathetic is that? But hey, at least I know who I am, I know what to expect from myself. I can see myself without having to look into the mirror, and I know the mirror lies.Sometimes, when I think back, it’s hard for me to believe that either of us ever got up the nerve. I mean, George and I lived totally in our own worlds -- well, yeah, George still lives in his, no argument there. Still, though, it’s amazing to me that we managed to break out, to break through to each other, to that degree, that we were able to take it to that level. To have that completely fulfilling physical interaction. Without that, Lord knows I’d still be stuck back in the mire. Walking around in a fog. George and I really made it. We got to the point where you really finally get out of the body -- to see the body, to know the difference between the body and the person... or the soul... whatever -- to realize that you are not your body, that I am not my body, that there’s more, so much more. Without that physical connection with another, I think you end up trapped in the material, trapped in a reality confined by sense perceptions. The intensity of sex somehow just blasts that reality away in the harsh bright white light of ecstasy and what was seen and felt before as being permanent and true is revealed to be only shadows of the true reality, which nevertheless still remains hidden and unfathomable, but at least now we are aware of its existence whereas formerly we were completely ignorant, and all our decisions and actions were grounded in this ignorance, and were therefore, obviously, mistaken. I live my day to day life in the echoes of our experiences. They are always with me, they surround me, and so I am never alone.