Sunday, July 24, 2005

I Deleted My Christian Marclay Rarities, and I Dare You to Do the Same...

On the eve of what might well be a fantastic adventure, I'm feeling like dirt. Global madness is doubtless cyclical, as is the human proclivity to decry the present as the very worst of times. Still, can we have a few more bombings, please? Specifically, targeted at the nations and cities I'll be visiting in the next three weeks? Can't we all just strap C-4 to ourselves and implode every hotel, dolmus, taxi rank, beachfront promedade, and half-assed two-star restaurant on the stinking fucking planet? I call for jihad against annoyance. If my campaign is successful, I shall be tattered, yes, but blissfully ALONE.



Your Dear, Dear Friend,

TS

The Groan Heard 'Round the Cupboard

Fuck... I've just returned from a calimitous trek northward where I called on long-time friends who, unbeknownst to me, were experiencing a rather rough patch in their relationship. I ache all over... Revisiting such torments brought foul memories to the fore, and I wanted to tear off the top of my head to prevent them from circulating. (Far better to release them into the general population.)

Friday: torrential rains on the drive up, wilting heat otherwise. A cordial welcome, but weirdness soon set in. Then a jolt, screaming, and morose self-absorption and anger... Discomfort mounted; I had to escape. Bid adieu at half past three AM and drove until I was hallucinating from fatigue. Checked into a motel, collapsed onto the bed. Slept through the first wake-up call.

(You mustn't think me unsympathetic. However, there's only so much unsolicited advice one can dole out before unsustainable losses overwhelm. Every couple experiences an occasional semi-private meltdown; the only respectful response as a witness is to immediately leave the premises. These friends are delightful 97% of the time... I threw the dice on the wrong goddamned weekend.)

Saturday: the "free breakfast" turned out to be a half-cupful of watery orange juice from a lobby dispenser. I asked for the Jonestown Special, but the front desk crone just smiled...

Heat even worse than the day before, well over 987654321 in the shade. The interstate was buckling under the onslaught, crumbling from the accumulated weight of all the 18-wheeled traffic. I took backroads home. Added an extra two hours to my trip, but the slower pace managed to counteract the pain. Conceived an half-crocked idea for a new book, so the journey wasn't totally wasted.

Dad's memory is failing, Christoph died a few days ago, bombs are going off in Egypt, Iraq, and Turkey, trigger-happy Brit police just murdered a Brazilian electrician on his way from the tube, and my son... Christ, I'm so disturbed by his recent career change that I can't even bring myself to write about it. Can't remember when I've felt so fucking awful...



(Holiday joy fun fun!!)

I've phoned my newly argumentative friends a few times since returning, and they're probably going to be okay. (I certainly hope so. They're great people.) Heading out to the gym right fucking now to detox.

With luck, Elvira and I won't be blown to shit next week... (Egypt was her first choice for our vacation.)

TS