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Fascicle Bastinado

textus receptus

2/15/10 01:33 pm - in which I make a one word post

blaarg

5/12/09 06:03 pm - Aaaahahahahahaha!

Uhhh... I just received my first fully sanctioned class E license to drive. By accident. No test, no questions - the lady at the tax collectors office obviously couldn't parse the reality of my owning a car and not knowing how to operate it, a breech of logic so unintelligible I can only assume it was an instinctual whim on the part of her sanity to patch the lacunae of reason from whence I emerged. Therefore switching my Colorado's instruction permit to Florida driver's license. Afterall, I can't be any worse at driving than the uletic droolers they have to regularly screen.

Fuck, I didn't earn it, but I'm keeping it.

5/8/09 03:10 pm - new entry

I'm redirecting my efforts today, from fixing up the house and yard to updating this tired thing. It's been awhile, so in the interim I've escaped from the alpestrine madness of Summit County to the languid slurry of Florida's thermonous shores; or, "America's Wang." The drive down was uneventful, but beautiful in parts. I had heard a lot about the prairie vistas of Kansas and was looking forward to them. Instead I found an unending promenade of swales, gullies, dessicated farms abutting eroded scarps, rachitic trees and knurled groves, burning sedges and unending drizzle - it was something out of Bradbury's "From the Dust Returned" and nicely apocalyptic. The ubiquitous JESUS IS REAL billboards certainly helped. Missouri was missable and fitting of its 'Misery' alias. The Apalachians were the only other geography of note, with elevated lakes and headlands, bearded promontories and nary a granitic peak in sight.

I'm on vacation from working for the time being, seeing as how I had a dearth of time off the past eight years, with frugal vacations girded by months of absolutely no convalescing. Not so say I'm being lazy now - everyday is spent fixing up the second story of the house here and making the yard more hortensial. We have a producing vegetable garden, and right now I'm working on a flower bed for butterflies and hummingbirds. We may be in the middle of a drought, but we've been blessed by a phreatic bounty of water for our yard. The days are long and far from the gelid paralysis of the Rockies, so there's much to do, while at night we continue our little pastoral mimicry by pitching in for good meals, libations and company 'til late. As we lay at night, prior to our purchase of an air conditioner, our discophoran bodies melting in the bed sheets and sticky in the breeze, we listen to the loud batrachian night hungrily crawling around us, moonlit and entomophagous.

Life is really good. I'm unplugging myself more and more from the technological distractions around me and laboring for greater self improvement. I needed it, a little less burden and a lot more breathing. I grew up here, but with the perspective of eight years in purgatory and the life-changing crucible I've emerged from make this seem like an entirely new and cognatic world. I think I'm ready and worthy of it for once.

3/14/09 06:30 pm - Captain Updaaaaate Maaaaaaannnn!!!

Bleh, I believe I may have laryngitis, the kind that sends its bacterial vanguards on anabasis to my left inner ear. Made several phone calls to medical centers and clinics in the county, and despite my entreaties the earliest appointment had is Tuesday at the one practice whose CEO was being indicted this past week on child-pornography charges. Hooray! I can't imagine anyone being able to afford health care up here, as it seems vastly overpriced compared to most places. The one giant hospital that isn't Vail won't take appointments, preferring to draggle the entirety of their sick through the monetary crucible of emergency care. Wtf is up with that? Who the hell can afford to pay $425 just to get a prescription for antibiotics? I doubt my appointment at Pedophilia-hd will be much less, either - suborning me to become their catamite or something.

Oh well, as I'm mired in the colloidal bracken of my own phlegm I might as well update this thing while I still have my vestibular wits about me, my inner ear deteriorating until my head is thrown entirely off its gimbal.

Crow and I had a lovely time eating at Modis with cataplexis  this past week, whom we're unlikely to see EVER AGAIN. Unless the momentum of our lives just happen to syncline in some cosmic agreeance and we find ourselves in the same location. Anyway, yeah, goodbyes are always so fucking awkward and inevitable, lurking at the edge of our dinner like a dolmen sentinel with a mongoloid moai stare. But really, this is only the first bit of ephemera I'm confronting by leaving this place, with much to follow. I better get used to it.

Had a great conversation with one of my regulars when I told him we were leaving, and instead of the lachrymal bullshit I'm trying to avoid was given encouragement. He feels my need to lay out like a flagstone on a bulkhead and cast my line off the jetty, both literally and figuratively, after our little katabasis from the mountains. Shed my wintry caparison and feel the air slip palpably over my skin again, goodbye gelid days and nights. It should be enjoyable for about 2 months, then I'll be wondering why the fuck I opted to feel like a jellyfish baking in a toaster oven. Ah Florida, hopefully my new-found appreciation for thee isn't as fissile in nature as my sanity is up here.

Welp, Iza tried sitting on my mouse and just barely failed at sabotaging this entry, which is the cue to count my blessings and pay attention to her pokey-highness.

2/9/09 09:21 pm - not all exercise is healthy

It looks like we'll be squeaking by February afterall. At least, so far - typically this month inchworms to Spring Break, only exacerbated by the current economy. But astonishingly enough the daily doldrums of consumer frugality are punctuated with some spending, which is more than I expected.

Talking to S, she obliquely informed me that she'd prefer it if we stay to April. I can't seem to get through to her the longer I stay, the poorer I become. I have a rent-free place in FL, so alleviating the diminishment of my savings that way, the entirety of my seven years of effort up here, would be a boon. Instead it becomes squandered while I wait - I'm working to lose less money.

This does afford me the time to drudge on a few problems. The tangible ones at least, and the closer April gets the more I can obviate any logistical issues. Until then, just like most aspects of my life, I try hard to discern the messes I've made through a barely transparent scrim of suggestion and confusion. I tend to over-analyze anything left to interpretation, and this has the unfortunate side effect of rendering me catatonically useless - my brain, even while tossing in semiconscious torpor, has the infuriating effect of abortively grasping at obscured suggestions. This leaves me with the sense that there's always more I could be doing, not just with the business, but can't seem to render palpable. Life is anything but a solvable equation, because that I could handle. So, time to solve is good. I've never ran from a problem. Yet.

Crow, bless her, has attempted finding another job. At an animal hospital - which we both agreed would be perfect for her. Unfortunately the position filled before I and the shelter folks could dazzle them into hiring her. Oh well, no big deal, their loss mostly. She's doing what she can and that helps immeasurably - I just hope I'm doing/can do the same for her. She is, at this point, the only coherent part of my universe worth not hitching a truck-ride into the wilderness for, leaving all behind.

On the brighter side - going to see an all-female Led Zeppelin cover band this week which should be a ho00tnanny, and Tyva Kyzy next Sunday. Been awhile since I've seen a show, and will serve to hopefully loosen me up a bit.

1/30/09 04:51 pm - that weather station's looking at me funny

drghr rjght n I really do mean to post more often, rather than let this journal succumb to attrition like so many. Admittedly, I don't like to post when my mind has been shamelessly wallowing in places it shouldn't, a little mental subterfuge meant to distract, keep up the artifice, ol' effigy of myself this journal. Let's see if I can regularly strum the axons to come up with topics from now on, eh?

My store's lease is up in April, though I have the suspicion it was up last April and my landlord's too busy lighting Cuban cigars with crispy c-notes to notice. Either way, I'm out of here, passing the soap baton to my partners and heavily eyeing medical school like a sultry plate of delicious steaming hot job security.

I've been thinking more of unplugging all my current distractions and writing a book, too. The largest obstacle to this is my own inward confusion rather than laziness, lapsing into non-judgemental limbo when it comes to just who I am, the tenor of my literary voice is shaky like a pubescent parody. So, I continue to flounder on these shoals rather than dive and just see what's mysterious down there. This doesn't lend itself to confident or concise writing, as you can see.

One trick is the simple, decadent act of internalizing the confused swag of my encephalitic cranium - a book about uncertainty and the coalescent bullshit that knocks one from their center, if they ever had one. It could take the shape of a young adult novel about a boy who befriends a vampire chipmunk, staying up all night in a tree house masturbating to artistic photos of vermiculate woodgrain and self mutilation.

I'm looking outside right now, and honestly, I'll miss when it snows. Then again, I miss the angry thundercalls and violent spitting at my windows of Florida's short-tempered weather. I won't miss having to see Aunt S. and endure her comments on my appearance. I think I could feel the tremors of a heart attack shift through her tectonic ribcage and vibrate the air when she saw how long my hair's been getting. Quite frankly, I don't give a shit, I'm getting older and my appearance is rolling downhill like a fetid sloke-filled egg with a messy future:



That's admittedly a fagtastic and emo picture of me, but really I'm exasperated that Iza's butt is subtly displacing mine from the fainting chair. Also, OK, maybe I'm being unfair to myself, unless the mirrors here aren't the prestidigitators that my camera is. But I am feeling as tired as I look, constantly.

Speaking of which, it's time for a nap.

12/17/08 11:49 pm - horribly ordinary

I've got the kind of tired that sits like a cotton wall behind my eyes, a great big soft buffer between me and the world. And yet I still can't sleep. Not that it's bad, just that there's a gloam of immediacy on the horizon, sort of side-ways winking at me.

I tried to fight it off early this morning, sans sleep and post heavy work day and birthday celebration, by accompanying Crow to the vet with Iza meowing plaintively from her carrier. We drugged her this time as the day prior she wasn't having the vet's fingers near the batface or monkeylipz. Of course, all this accomplished is one comedically incensed floppy-octopus of a feline, with limbs all askew and a heavy butt frothed by a lot of sound and fury, signifying biting. Sleep deprivation makes things like this easier and yet more operose in practice. She's home and nestled now in my armpit, which is appalling with its mixture of urine-stained cat and boy-sweat. Oh nothing compared to the trauma she endured.

The Brazilians are back in town, canvassing the local businesses for work. It breaks my heart. They shuttle in every year on a work-exchange program from their colleges. The brave ones are those that apply in my store, having foregone the comfort of prearranged employment and housing provided by their schools to rather strike out on their own. What floors me annually is just how attractive these people are - super-model quality, even the males. Their resumes are always impressive, and even if their English is a little forced they've at least been taught to speak it properly, which is more than I can say for people born and raised in this country. Those that are fortunate to hire them for the extent of their brief work visas report of their industriousness, bright nature and confidence. But this year they approach somberly, unable to find jobs, desperately clutching classifieds. They're almost nice to a fault, yet helpless in a foreign country. I fear their existence as a foreshadow and turn them away with a sick stomach, applications left behind answering my query as to why they applied at my store: that I'm nice to them.

Was even approached by a young, attractive South African girl in tears who's under the same circumstances, visiting this country on a working holiday and unable to fulfill the first part of that phrase, giving me her phone number and praying for a ski accident upon one of my employees so that I might hire her. I don't know if that was smudged eyeliner or desperation around her eyes.

Another soap store opened up practically right next to us. Lots of people have been giving us business under the caveat the other store is bunk. This makes me feel good, as it's a franchise with more money than I could ever hope for and all the possibility to make my bones turn to ice, despite knowing our products are more affordable and superior.

So business has picked up a little. Not enough to completely dispel the sobriety of my situation, but welcomed nonetheless. Locals and repeat visitors alike are attempting to inculcate me against closing, but while this is heartening, it's also a stark addition to what I fear is inevitable.

I just remembered: two unthinkably cute ski bunnies came into my store yesterday, luxuriously dolled-up and impossibly REEKING of Doritos. Is there some popular sort of Dorito-perfume I don't know about? Did one of them have a mutagenic glandular problem? Or did I fail to notice their orange-stained fingertips and high sodium halitosis? The mind buckles.

12/8/08 10:03 pm - schizophrenic mouth harp

Alright. Writing has been difficult lately due to a number of factors, none the least of which is that my computer is little more than a dust magnet for the time being, a monolithic dust bunny incubator, until I get those fans whirring again. Also, if I do write, there's this little poison called 'negativity' which is currently lacing the tips of my fingers like New Guinean blow darts, and quite frankly I've had enough of the doleful bowlful. I'm sure you as well. So, some positives first (what, you thought you'd be spared completely?). Let's see...

Being introduced to Doctor Who via the Netflix & Xbox unlimited streaming dealie is lots of fun, as we burrow our asses into bed every night with dreams of time traveling to distant curiosities.

It's December, so that means holiday music is hittin' me up all pop and fresh from the speakers, dancing through the red in my eyes like a mint-stingy candycane - however, the soul station plays this one song that's a gruff voice caroling "they call me backdoor Santa" with little kids and women repeating after him which is pretty much the best wrong thing I've ever heard.

I've been flexing my culinary skills to great effect.

I've stopped drinking and am getting more exercise. It must be a side effect of some irascible need to be in control of something during difficult times, but it's far better than slovenly stewing in my lugubriousness.

Our temporary winter digs are small but congenial. We like them. Part of the reason? All our shit is in storage and thankfully unable to suffocate us. I've really lost all sentimentality to inanimate objects and their histories.

so the bad newsCollapse )

11/14/08 08:07 pm - the lights stay on

I'm at work staying open later than usual, trying to bleed a little more from the sidewalks. Anything, really. This will likely become a regular ritual despite what successes there are. So far, nothing. I brightly noticed traffic making its way from Denver, which means people will check into their over-priced hotels and timeshares, ignoring the generic mountain artwork on the walls before grabbing a bite to eat and letting their wallets pant a little - leading to a weekend's worth of powder surfing and wet sock wringing. Usually, that is. Things are frigid out there in more ways than one. Instead I'm shifting here uncomfortably on an unpadded wooden stool, the fountain to my left louder than usual, the Muzak sounding more anemic.

And I remind myself things will be okay. The worst that can happen is that I die. Unless the economy magically incarnates as an Acme-branded anvil above my head, that's unlikely to happen.

11/9/08 09:48 pm - Computer broken, moving, blah

Pretty much nothing else to report on, sir.
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