(Note: (UPDATE. SLOWLY DELETING A TON OF THINGS. This is a longer post than usual. An old school word collage if-you-will. The Reason? I want to. Also, This blog will be down and offline beginning Sunday. It will remain that way for a good month. Among finishing my book and going on a short tour, I’m going to clean up this site and organize it. that will probably take a while. As always, thank you for reading.)
Six hours ago after tigers won the game there was…
I opened the door. A big bug runs into me…
Damn. Fly much?
This happened. I laughed. I spill hot coffee all over my white shirt.
For two hours…
I make books. Cut paper. Type on my typewriter and Listen to the radio. What station. All of them in short intervals. NPR wont come in. I think they do that on purpose here.
I sit at the computer. I mess around and then get to work. I edit and send emails and think about cleaning up this mess.
Within the hour…
I decide it’s best to call it a day. The book is once again moving slowly. I have to work on the second book in the dead writers series. I’m thinking about the government shutdown. I’m thinking about how everybody feels bad for the police officers who don’t get paid but have to work because they’re essential. I feel bad for them…
I feel bad in general. I think about the abacus. I forgot to move the number forward. I guess I’ll start over. Why not. I mean..
I go back to feeling bad about the police officers. I also feel bad about the lady that lost her mind. I hope they give the baby health insurance. The mind is an inherited possibility. I think about what this means to my existence. I wonder If I’m essential. The writer. The historian. A human.
I’m always on the clock. I can’t shutdown. That’s what they call privileged. Thankfully, it’s break time.
A minute ago…
I open the door. The bug runs into me. It’s dark. The light woke him up.
Damn. Fly much? I spill cold coffee.
Ten seconds ago…
New message. Dear so and so. Do you know, how to get gorilla glue off your hands.
Waiting. No response. I’m posting this. I’m going back to work.
It’s almost 7am. October first two thousand thirteen. I don’t know what’s going on in the world, especially my country. Well, I think I do, but if I think too long about it, I feel crazy. The politicians are losing their cool. There are normal good people here. It’s hard living, that’s the nature of existence. Do they want to make people hate each other? Nonsense. I’m not going to think about this for the rest of the week. We don’t matter all that much. It’s history. I have important things to take care of. Media numbness no more. I’m going to keep working on my novel. I got another two thousand words edited. Work for another hour and then punch out of the mines. It’s getting close. Page 92 of 486.
Have a good week. Keep at it. Thank you for reading.
Start second book in the dead writers series sometime this week. back to the going. Hopefully have novel done by end of the year. Other than that I don’t know what about much else. start section. Peace.
The first corpse. I knew him. Officer Malinowski. He picked me up once and drove me home. I fell asleep after work on a bench. He said,
“That’s how you get yourself in trouble.”
“Sounds like a case of the fear” I said.
“You don’t know shit boy.”
That was two months ago. Right after the bender. Never thought I’d see him again. I don’t think he remembered me, and so feeling a bit better I was back to the apartment. It was strange. Cops were outside and yellow tape was blocking the entrance. First responders were wheeling a body-bag. I saw the face of the dead man who was getting zipped up. It was this guy who lived below me. He was weird, hardly knew him. I think I said “hello” to him once. Now he’s dead. I was out of breath.
“Sir, officer, Malinowski, um, what happened?”
“I guess you could say… Henry?”
“He was murdered.”
“Yep. Sad ending for a sad son of a bitch. So you know anything?”