Nick Tosches

In addition to playing with the theme of vampires, Mr. Tosches also toys with pagan metamorphosis. His aging protagonist and young lover lose themselves in the delusion that she could be a leopard, or something like that.

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Yes, leopards were given to lounging in quiet stealth on the boughs of trees. I had heard that this was what made the leopard so exceedingly dangerous. You could pass unawares beneath a leopard looking down on you from a great tree limb above you. But if by chance, distracted by a bird in the sky, or the sun receding or emerging from behind a cloud, or the first pale star of dusk, or anything that set the eyes to wandering upward, your glance met with they eyes of the leopard, in that instant the leopard would leap upon you and you would be dead. Your eye contact, though inadvertent and brief, would not be suffered by the leopard even in its most lulled and sated quietude. This was why, by comparison, lions were such easy game. They lay hidden in path-side gullies, and hunting guides tossed stones lazily into those gullies until one of them hit a lion, which would instinctively rise and run, an easy target for the shot. Leopards, however, did not run, and if in coming upon one, your glance met the glance of the leopard, you were no longer the hunter but the prey, and you would be dead before you had the slightest chance to raise your gun. Your first trembling of fear would be your last.

-- “Me and the Devil” by Nick Tosches

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Good Morning, Precious!

Lindsay

An ONTD post. Lindsay is out in a bikini, revealing a lot of big, nasty bruises on her fine, white thigh. I guess one of her millionaire tricks wanted to do more than talk and cuddle.





ONTD

Girls working on their sucking

Is this from the "Scary Movie" franchise? It would be better with a banana or a water bottle, but maybe that was the original plan and it had to be changed for the censors.

Living Blurt by Blurt

Posting those single-pictures has moved me to pursue further the one-blog fantasy, the easygoing blurting. I'm going to put down here my accumulated Daily Notes for today, and then I will live life blurt by blurt.

~ ~ ~

Oh, look! No rain. Color me shocked.

Daimon says, “It is a good thing we did not bet.”

I guess betting on rain in the southwest is a sucker’s bet.

But I cannot complain too much this morning. I was able to enjoy a good night’s sleep, and in my bed. No symphony of snores or concerto of groans, nor any of that endless pillow chatter. So, it can happen. This is like the second time.

Daimon says, “Aww, a little sleep really does favor your personality. A little.”

Told you! I only ask for so much. Well, at least since I have gotten used to receiving so little.

* * * *

No cats again this morning. I really hate that. Again, I think this is a consequence of having a plate of food out there all night for them.

Pi says, “So, they are more free. What’s wrong with that? Cut the apron strings, mother goose!”

But they are too wild.

Pi giggles, “I know. Like squirrels, right? Remember that? It has been a long time since you have said that.”

Monk smiles. And it still holds true. Even if they at least aren’t feral cats. I guess cats are always half-feral, at best.

Pi smiles, “They sure aren’t dogs,” reminding him of another oft spoken observation.

Monk thinks of Bo. No they aren’t. Not at all. Not at all.

* * * *

The ducks were hungry this morning. This was the first time that a gaggle of baby ducks ran up to me. It is the cutest thing, but I have to be very careful to keep from stepping on any of them. I would have felt like total shit if I had to scrape off crushed, bloodied duck from the bottom of my shoe.

Pop

Pop was serious about cleaning the carpets. He has rented the machine and is waiting for Jack to come and help. It is still unclear how much participation he is expecting from me.

This could get ugly.

Leaving me and my feelings aside, it is striking to see Pop acting like he is still in the prime of his life, as if he might still be in his thirties, beginning a new life with Ms. Walker. So busy and relatively ambitious.

But I'm wondering where I fit in. Wondering if I fit in.

I feel added stress because I have to put Ash outside, and as unlikely as it may seem, that rain may be coming through this evening.

Like I said: this could get ugly. It feels to me like the brewing of the perfect storm. Like I might be out on my ass today, left to make my way on the streets, as Pop and Ms. Walker lose themselves a little in their romantic, geriatric fantasies.

The butterflies are flying wild in my stomach, feeling more like bats, and I am more than a little scared.

* * * *

Jill is here with Jack.

Pi says, "And notice how cheery they are in their cooperation!"

Goody for them.

Pi says, "But you should appreciate how much all of this drama is in your head. It is, after all, a familiar pattern."

I just want to do my reading, writing thing. It that really too much to ask for?

"It may be a little unreasonable. You are not an island. You depend on them. You have to be able to live with them."

It must be a minimal kind of thing. As minimal as possible.

* * * *

Jack and Jill, unfortunately, leave right away. If they were staying, then that probably would have meant that I would not be called on to do anything except help to move the heavy items.

Jack says something like: "We got to go. Come on, let's go, baby!"

Yeah, you won at life, little brother.

I just wonder if they really have a rush engagement elsewhere, or if Jack sees what's coming and just wants to get out while the getting is good. I'd like to leave myself. And let the 'newlywed couple' fend for themselves as best as they can.

My Dream College Girlfriend

Piled-Up Lives

Isn't that depressing?

Pop and Walker

They aren't even here. Pop and Walker. The neighbor is working on his car or something. I thought that industrial-like noise was them getting busy on the carpets. But, no, they aren't even here.

I was happily thinking we might make it past this silliness, that they would be content to carry on with their dream-chore, a dream that they are sort of renovating this poor, claptrap house, and they were going to leave me out of it.

But it hasn't even begun. And anything can yet happen.

* * * *

I'm just going to read the Mantel novel, while I have the house to myself. Enjoy myself a little, before who knows what happens.

1984 (2, 10) Winston and His Proletarian Revolution

Winston continues to wax poetic over the fat woman prole hanging diapers and singing, as he dreams of revolution.

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Without having read to the end of the book, he knew that that must be Goldstein’s final message. The future belonged to the proles. And could he be sure that when their time came, the world they constructed would not be just as alien to him, Winston Smith, as the world of the Party? Yes, because at the least it would be a world of sanity. Where there is equality there can be sanity. Sooner or later it would happen: strength would change into consciousness. The proles were immortal; you could not doubt it when you looked at that valiant figure in the yard. In the end their awakening would come. And until that happened, though it might be a thousand years, they would stay alive against all the odds, like birds, passing on from body to body the vitality which the Party did not share and could not kill.

“Do you remember,” he said, “the thrush that sang to us, that first day, at the edge of the wood?”

“He wasn’t singing to us,” said Julia. “He was singing to please himself. Not even that. He was just singing.”

The birds sang, the proles sang, the Party did not sing.

-- “1984” by George Orwell

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Well, the Party always said that the proles are animals. I love how Orwell has Julia interject a little cold note of reality on Winston’s romantic, revolutionary musings. But Winston just keeps on dreaming.

My second walk of the day

I am going out for my second walk of the day. My attempt at evasion.

I'm not going to bring any duck food. Must conserve! I'll have to try to avoid the ducks, so that they don't make me feel guilty.

They've done nothing!

Coming back from my walk, as I approached the house, I began to fear that they might not have even started with the carpets. When I open the door and come inside, I see that they have not even unwrapped their rented machine. I am more determined not to mess with it.

A stand for the new TV

The joke's on me. That wasn't a carpet cleaner. It was a stand for the new TV.

"And you were all SUICIDE ALERT on us."

Well, this isn't over yet. Pop may still come with that contraption. He did say Friday.

"You get weirded out too quick."

Always have. I'm a little unhinged, I guess.

"A little?"

Alright, alright.

Google Reader

That was scary. There was no longer any link for Google Reader.

Trouble? Was this just my account?

Fortunately, I was able to bing the url and the program is still accessible. But I am wondering if I need to clear out my subscriptions.

Maybe so. What's a couple of months or less? I may as well begin the transition to whatever my new system will be. Google Reader was such a wonderful convenience.

I feel like I am being hit by so many things at once. I, who badly needs a lot of stability in my life.

Rain?

Our weathercasters are promising hard that we are in for some wicked storms. Not just rains, either. But hard winds and hail.

Maybe. But I am not anxious about getting the cats inside; I'm not even trying. Moreover, it is not stopping me from watering our trees. This is our one legal water day, and I couldn't take a chance on wasting it and letting the trees go for another desert-dry week.

Could use a vacation

I could use a vacation from my life.

Daily Fun

( Read more... )

Storm

I go to bed early. A little after ten. I feel too beat up. By ten-thirty the storm breaks. And it is everything they promised. It's coming down so hard, it could be hail. And it was immediate too. Only Coco was caught far out. Ash came in right away, and Sammy not long after that.

Much of the storm tapered off within fifteen minutes, and it seems to be petering out now. With respect to my watering the trees, if the storm does not recommence later tonight, I cannot feel bad about the watering, which may be seen as just preparing the ground to take advantage of this rain. If it does not resume raining, this quick splashdown wouldn't have achieved anything significant - except separate Coco from us.

* * * *

The storm does want to pick up again. That is some ugly rumbling in the sky and some fierce lighting strikes, with the winds gusting hard. Coco has a calm spot to make it back.

* * * *

Coco didn't make it back. It's storming pretty hard again.

One of the things that makes this tough is that I saw Coco dozing so sweetly on the patio chair just before I turned into bed. She must have decided to go prowling just before the storm broke. Bad timing, baby.

* * * *

That shotgun thunder cracks my heart.