Last night--I must be in the midst of a borderline-personality disorder crisis--I had a big blow-up over nothing (demons banshees whatever..)with a housemate (Mister Merry Man, we’ll so designate the oaf) last night. We bellowed like bools (nod to e.e. cummings). A bloated housemate. A drunken who is 54 but looks 94! All those heavy meat meals, cheeses, cigarettes & booze.
How can he continue to exist? He usually has trouble walking but yesterday started doing a jig for my benefit. Must be on Percocet. (I think he might've seen me the other day doing some shadow-boxing.) I told him to stop with the bull@!$%#. I was minding my own business. Most others just walk away from the poor guy & leave him squawking to himself. I called him an ignorant superstition-ridden idiot. He was angry I did. I was angry he was insulting my intelligence.
That's what I get for hanging at what's essentially a halfway house. What the hell am I doing there? The point was to get off Loser Mountain & off the winter streets. Okay so it's warming during the day mostly here--SF Bay Area--but the nights are semi-rigid. All kinds of mini-weather systems swirling around like crazed Mongol cavalry.
It’s been slim pickin’s lately on the coffee house circuit. I blame the Royal Wedding. But the young students are studenting for semester’s end. And while at one time I might’ve jumped at the chance to hump anything that moved married or not here I come, the New Man shies away from that bleak karmic road. Call it conscience?
Or maybe it’s just fatigue. A good book, a shady nook, a jug of hot cocoa…& maybe thou & maybe not thou. Maybe just me in me-time. Next stop Hawaii? Not yet. Beverly Hills first. Where I should’ve been months ago. Except for fear. Not fear exactly. More like lack of confidence. No not solely lack of confidence. More like a 4-day hospital stay. Almost broke my back & legs up the hill back visiting where I sued to live in the Santa Cruz Mts. I do that periodically. Carrying fire wood. Taking a prat-fall. Which wasn’t so bad. It was the load of wood I was carrying that landed on my right leg, that immediately blew up to an enormous size. (If my penis would only have that problem…)
Cold-pack & elevation fixed that problem partially. Only the first doctor’s visit didn’t do the trick so some days later I limped into the ER at Stanford Hospital where they instantaneously admitted me. Great treatment. Great nurses. Great food. They wanted to keep me. And I didn’t want to leave. (Did I write about this episode already…? Anyway…Consider this is a partial recapitulation--which is what it is-- then. I’m getting old. Memory’s going. Please bear with me.
I love Palo Alto. Filled with giant brontosaurus women. Gigantrixes clicking confident professional heels along the sidewalks . I just hope they don’t become extinct in my lifetime. Women are so beautiful. (And vulnerable, in a paradoxically strong way. They make me want to cry. They’re trying to save the world, goddammit! A world that don’t wanna be saved. Therefore…VOTE HILLARY!!! ??? )
Anyway… will hang late at the Cupertino, Los Gatos, Palo Alto & S.F. coffee houses—in full Mister Merry Man Avoidance Mode-- until I blow this berg i.e. Cupertino, for my Southern California trip…Although I’m sure avoiding the cheesy Loyalista news from London will be a more difficult task.
I’m sure I’m missing something here but then I always do. Please bear with me. BTW—Have I asked you to please bear with me today…?
