Friday, September 06, 2013
Woke up cold early in this morning and made a racket getting the quilt out.
I prefer the chill to heat, and hate trying to sleep with air conditioning. But with the heat in July, it’s run the air conditioner or fry.
Sammy, a one time adult feral cat that has since adopted me, sleeps next to my head, snorkeling all night. He hates the air conditioning, too, but likes to cuddle, even at the expense of waking me up with his snores.
Ginger didn’t get surgery yesterday. The vet found an infection and so I had to go collect him and treat him with antibiotics with the hope his hernia doesn’t bind.
The visit to Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary gave us religion again. We’re using up the ground turkey we have and then reverting back to vegetable diet I’ve been on (mostly) for several years. It felt odd eating meat again anyway.
As much as we’ve regained faith, I can’t give up yogurt now that I’ve reintroduced it into my diet. Eggs are also a problem since their production involves the torture of some of the wisest animals on the planet (see the book by Alice Walker or one of my favorite movies, Chicken Run) so I’m back to begging my boss for donations from her very free chickens, and doing without during those times when I can’t get them.
Cheese is another problem since it is as addictive (my friends from
tell me) as heroin (just not as mellowing, I suppose.) So it’s soy cheese or
I’m a tuna for lunch kind of guy I sometimes liked to spike the sandwiches with Swiss cheese. I’m using up what’s left and then will figure out if I need it at all.
9/11 is coming up again. I’m planning to read some poetry at a special event tonight, part of an effort to get back on the circuit. I would read from the book on 9/11 I got talked into writing all so many years ago, but I hate it when other people read long excerpts so I’ll refrain and still to the shorter pieces.
Besides, I’m writing fiction again anyway – rewriting a Snoden-like novel I wrote two years ago, figuring to self publish it shortly. I’ve also started on a new novel (as if I don’t already have too many) as possible material for a commercial publisher.
I have the Toads stuff, but I need time to connect the two drafts I have – I wrote parts of it from the heroine’s point of view, and then another part from her father’s, and I need to weave them together. Perhaps I need a week off.
Writing is my solution for every problem – whether it is journal or fiction or poetry. Somewhere in the space between the point of the pen and the surface of the paper, it collects wisdom I do not possess in me, and through it, I find peace, and a record of life.
I’m reassembling the Two Guys from
Garfield journal stuff because I found
entries that I didn’t know I had in some of the alternative journals I kept
back then. The current version sort of takes excerpts from some journals, I’m
going to post them fully since they give a better flavor of that mad rebellious
summer when I pretended to be a Marist revolutionary with Two Guys management
as my personal capitalistic target.
But since then, I learned that the masses do not want to be saved from their bosses so much as become bosses themselves, and that human nature isn’t about equality (even when spouting such) it is about getting in the front of the line.
And this was just as true of Che, Mao or Abbie Hoffman. It is the intellectuals who paint revolution as pure.