Sunday Morning

A terrible night's sleep. I couldn't sleep a whole hour straight, having to always get up to dribble off a few drops of piss.

the cats

Not one of the cats is here this morning...

honky car-alarm

Someone's honky car-alarm goes off. Shouldn't we just ban the damn things? Have they ever stopped one theft?

LJ debates

I probably shouldn't be entering LJ debates anymore. I'm obviously not going to invite a new wave of e-friends and flirtations, and I just don't have the nerves anymore for these confrontations, preferring my own quiet contemplations.

I don't know. Sometimes one can get so bored that it may be worthwhile to stir up the blood and heat the senses.

a Cowboys game today

While I'm at the laptop, Pop has a Cowboys game today. It's the three o'clock game, which means I'll be sequestered in my room from that time on. It's a long time. If I had the money, with the weather as moderate ias it, I might go out to eat for dinner, maybe Kentucky Fried Chicken. I'll probably just rough it. Maybe use Pop's computer.

July 19, 1999, Monday

The apparent death of John F. Kennedy, Jr. has absorbed days of he news cycle.

===============

September 18, 2011

I vaguely remember. He was flying in bad weather, right?

I didn’t remark on it, but he was just getting seriously interested in politics, and he was probably even better looking than his dad and almost as charming. A pre-emptive strike before he has a chance to start a successful career toward the presidency - like father like son? Probably not, but it isn’t an unengaging theory.

July 20, 1999, Tuesday, 2100

Jack does look sad to Monk. Then Jack calls Sal, and he still postures as macho man - the shrimpy, bird-boned little guy who couldn’t handle high school.

===============

September 18, 2011

Although I cannot do much better than guess, I think Jack overcame these doldrums and doubts. I imagine he was having second thoughts, maybe third or fourth thoughts, about having a wife and kids.

It’s an interesting question: how does he feel about his life? He is effectively a stranger to me, and I don’t have a strong idea. I imagine he is okay with his life now, that he has grown into it and accepts it, and I suppose he has done better than me, even if it is largely thanks to being a good-looking white guy.

a novel

I'm starting to think I need a novel, but it cannot be anything new, since I'm broke and already have my heart set on a poetry book.

So, what would I like to reread...

*******

I'm actually feeling kinda really stuck about that. Nothing is calling to me. I was thinking about resuming "Magic Mountain". It may be recalled that I have been saving the second half until the winter. In truth, I no longer feel the weather as much of a constraint, but I feel like I want something more engaging - characters and situations that I can better lose myself in.

*******

There is even the wild thought that maybe I should be doing my own writing, my own poetry.

I know: one doeesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

drowsy

A little drowsy after lunch, like I cannot walk straight. Of course, after last night's broken sleep, that shouldn't be surprising.

Ash

Still haven't seen Ash today. What is the deal with her? What could be so compelling, that she would forgo her companionship with Coco and Sammy, her security, the easy food?

clean up

Maybe I should try to clean up that clutter in front of my bookcases. That would be better than trying to write a poem.

Such blogging as this may be as close as I ever come to art.

clean up 2

What am I going to do with all those books...

What is that one? with the greenish hardcover...

Ah, I remember when I thought Gibson's "Neuromancer" was a sci-fi literary gem I'd never see again after giving it up to Mother for one of her garage sales, maybe back in Ocean Port days. Now I have the 20th anniversary hardcover, and I doubt I'll ever read it again. It's just not what I thought it was, even though I had read it once for that philosophy class, though it made Gibson a legend, as sort of the father of cyberpunk.

I wish I could sell it for a buck today.

It's too beautiful an edition to put in the trash. Nor am I especially thrilled about the idea of donating it to the library.

Heh, I'd rather book-blog it if time were infinite. My time, that is.

As you can see, I'm not likely to make a lot of headway in cleaning up this clutter. And I also need to work on those Blurty entries.

that clock

I want to smash that clock on Pop's wall. It sounds and feels to me like someone hammering rather than a tick-tocking. And to think that I have a whole day of this in front of me.

May 28, 2003, Wednesday, 2126

Monk drops onto his mattress on the floor, and Little Bear joins him settling down on the far corner. Pi comes into the room as Monk groans into his pillow. She giggles and takes the only seat, "Are you okay, Monk? You don't . . . seem so good."

Monk settles on his back, "Black Memorial Day. I'm still suffering the aftershocks. I hope."

Daimon steps into the doorway and leans against the wall, chortling, "You hope?"

"I hope that's all it is. My diet has been whacked. Like I'm really sick. I cannot eat much. And I feel woozy, more than usual."

Daimon says, "Well, you know, that might not be such a bad thing. You could stand to lose a few or thirty pounds." Pi breaks into convulsive laughter.

Monk smirks, "I think this could be serious. I wonder . . . if I may have cancer."

"Cancer!" they both spit out in wonder.

"Yeah, cancer. I wonder whether the stress has weakened my body so that a latent condition might have surfaced."

Pi shakes her head in pity, "It really was tough on you, wasn't it, Monk?"

Monk stares at the ceiling gazing deep into his soul, "And this was only an internet thing! If I had any doubts about being able to handle a social life, those doubts have now been fully allayed, thank you very much! But no thanks!" After a pause, Monk resumes, "I still cannot get over how intense an internet relationship can be. This virtual reality is a little too real for me."

Pi nods, "Well, relationships are largely mental, and you get practically the full mental aspects through heart-to-heart discussions. It's a good lesson to learn."

Monk says, "I only hope that I survive to make use of this lesson!"

Daimon says, "You're not still talking about cancer, are you!?"

Monk shakes his head, "No, not just cancer. I'm worried that I may have a real little devil gunning for me (or at least someone who can be a real little devil when and if she ever wants to be), one who is not without resources and means."

Pi looks sadly at Monk, "I trust that's just your paranoia taking over, again. Every time that you suffer a little stress, you know that you always conjure these extreme fears and threats."

Monk shivers, "Yeah, but one can never be certain that one isn't right, this time. God, the anger she feels! Though, it's not like there weren't traces of that in her journal. I just never thought of having that rage and cunning directed against me."

Pi says, "And it probably isn't."

"I hope not."

"Don't worry."

==================

September 18, 2011

Cancer indeed. I am so much my Father, it hurts. I suppose Evil Lawn Gnome would be delighted over my fear of her. I wonder if Crysling is married now. Children of her own? Everyone's life keeps going on, except for mine. I just get older and older.

clean up 3

Still cleaning and trying to better organize my small room. I've come to a few empty little boxes of the first computer games that Pop bought for us after getting our first computer, as though such games would be the main attraction of having a personal computer in the Internet age. This was still before I discovered Blurty and the blogosphere. I kind of hate to throw them away, if only for nostalgia, particularly that "Schizm" game, which was kind of special, my first deep-fantasy video game. I fondly remember being deeply enrapt in that world. The technology had gone a long way from the days of Pong in the 1970s.

Again, if time were infinite, I could see myself just happily exploring such worlds. Seeing how much trouble I am having getting into my reading and doing any kind of somewhat serious writing, I wonder a little why I don't pursue that. I suppose I just find it more meaningful to work in words, dealing directly with my mental life, as plain and dull as that may be, rather than just playing with shoot 'em ups or racing cars. But I don't know. I can see myself playing that Batman game "Arkham" and going on from there, becoming a hardcore gamer, just enjoying that art work, losing myself in those deeply immersive worlds, as I don't suppose my life would be any less wasted doing that than in what I have been doing all these years, and wouldn't those games be more fun, more time-absorbing? I certainly enjoyed Grand Theft Auto. But I don't know.

Hmmm, I think I am going to throw away those boxes, after all. I mean, if I cannot throw those away, what will I ever be able to toss? And I still have the disks separately.

Ah, maybe I should make a point of saving this answer book to "Schizm", on the off chance that I ever feel like playing that game again for old time's sake.

elephant ears

Taking the empty computer-game boxes outside to dump in the recycling bin, I finally remembered that I need to water the elephant ears.

The moderate weather made me neglectful. I forgot this morning, and I didn't do it last night. The last time was yesterday morning. And when I say 'moderate weather', we are still talking days in the mid-nineties. So, yeah, the ears were looking more than a little haggard.

May 29, 2003, Thursday, 0715

After coming in from their first morning rounds, and after Monk takes care of collecting the trash from all the little trash cans for this trash day, Monk drops back onto his mattress, where Little Bear joins him. The two hairy little animals roughhouse awhile. A little growling, a lot of petting and manhandling, and some licking. It had been too long since they have done this for more than a passing moment. In the past four to six weeks, Monk had been too wrapped up with Blurty and his then new and wonderful friends. During this time of the morning, Monk would be eagerly checking his e-mail, receiving the latest dispatches from them. He is now back to getting the familiar 'no new messages received' response.

Although there is some relief in this (as he certainly doesn't wish to get cussed out anymore), a hollow disappointment is also felt, that loss of warm interpersonal contacts that he had just recently come to find and enjoy, after believing that he would never experience anything like that again since early high-school days. Still, it's awfully good to play more with the aging eskie. Monk's exciteable mind also benefits by the quiet calm, allowing him a more meditative flow of thought, as though one's thinking runs purer without the jostling currents of everyday social life. Poorer but purer.

*******

(0635)

A cooler 64dgF. But it's getting uncomfortably hot fast.

===============

September 18, 2011

I see too little of my Little Bear, my Bo, in my Old Journal entries. Now that I think about it, I feel kind of bad that I am not missing my old friend more. It feels so long ago, like another life, and he now feels more abstract to me than real. It puzzles me, because we had a long seventeen years together: all the bathings, those walks, all the time going outside to take care of doggy business, him eating by my side for all my meals. I think he should be more real to me.

clean up 4

I have thrown out a good stack of old papers, about three-inches deep, stuff that goes back to UTSA days, including proto-journal stuff. I managed to keep the birth certificate and college transcripts. I almost threw out the congratulations card that I was given by the law school office staff upon acceptance, but decided to keep it. There were also printed-out e-mails from Blurty days as well as some Crysling stuff which I decided to keep.

I feel like I have made a little real progress in taking care of that little mountain of clutter, though we are a long, long way from order. Still, a thousand-mile journey and first steps and all that.

headachey

Feeling so headachey. Like I could use a walk. And maybe something good to eat.

Pop

Usually, on an occasion like this, when Pop is settled in for a game, when the phone rings, I can at least count on him staying seated in his room there talking to whomever, but now I see he has taken to using that wireless hand-set, and he enjoys talking on the phone as he walks across the house to take his piss. Oh, well!

dinner

With the game apparently in overtime, I think I will do somthing more for dinner, and cook up a hamburger patty and the trimmings. I cannot stand the idea of Swanson tonight.

Dinner 2

A long time since we had cream corn. And Pop had some fresh potatoes, so I microwaved one of those up.

Pretty good. But apparently a little slight. I don't feel quite full. But I guess that just means more chocolate ice cream for me.

Got a problem with that?

Emmys

I see on ONTD that the Emmys air tonight. It sounds like something Pop might watch; that and the football game must make for a really big day for him, I guess. As for me, it's just another of those big national-cultural things I gladly let pass me by.

Dinner 3

If I didn't have so many dishes to watch, I might have gotten to the toilet this evening after all.

I don't want to complain, though. That was my best dinner in a long time.

Lightning

Lightning flashes in the sky? Might we still have a chance at getting some of that rain?

I really do hate the idea of watering again on another Tuesday.

the fist of an angry god

Why is my alarm clock blinking? You know, the new one with the battery back-up.

For the past couple of hours and change, we have been without power. Oh, we got that rain, and it was a full-out, earth-pounding affair. As they say, like the fist of an angry god.

And, of course, all the cats were apparently out and about. One made it back, just a little while ago, just before the power came back on, the one that was gone all day, Ash.

At least I won't be watering this Tuesday. In fact, I think I'm done with watering until next spring.

the fist of an angry god 2

Coco makes it in!

Naturally, she is not as amenable to being towel-dried, but at least I avoided getting scratched up. She's cute but mean.

the fist of an angry god 3

And Sammy makes three.

I'm going to go to bed real soon now, after maybe just a few more Tumblr images.