Really, I have been being so nice to my illness lately - sleeping, eating green things, etc. - and it just refuses to treat me well. So, I tell you, I have had enough of this. I decided to go ahead and get out and buy groceries, whether or not my illness wanted me to. I went to three dif stores, after the library. And after the bus company got it all wrong again and left me waiting for an hour, here I am back with my dog, and drinking scurrilous wine, in a modicum of pain. I know the trouble I'll get.
Warning: Dogs have to eat meat, and related stuff. I must feed my dog this stuff. And, we have recently learnt that having a dog is worse than, like, having a cow. But this is what I got stuck with, really with no choice of my own. Seriously, this dog is holding me back in so many ways. I am just waiting, waiting, as the clock ticks away, for the time I finally get to eat him, and justify all this extraneous care and carnivory.
At the human market, I look for dog treats that me dog don't gotta break his teeth on. Even though he is a big dog, he isn't into breaking into large bones just for the wheat and sugar innards. So, today I am at F&F, mainly to survey air conditioners, and I check out the dog treats. I see something nifty there which happens to be only a tippance, (two-pence). It is a thin round cylinder, referred to as a, "trachea." Well, it is uber cheap and just right, so I buy it.
Later that night. I give it to my excited dog when I get home. He looks at it and refuses to eat it. I remember him acting this way when I first tested raw chicken on him. For all his stupid idiocy and stubbornness, this dog has a measure of humanity in him. He refused to eat something that once used to SAY things, like, whatever. I swear to god, he knew this was once a living thing, and he didn't want to hurt it! I was glad to see this.
What remains stored in the vestiges of the dead? Memory? Familiarity? Life? Does life itself continue on in relics of yore, if merely via scent? Or do sounds and visions accompany these sniffings? We have not been beyond our solar system, but we also do not know of worlds beyond our own: here on Earth, such as the psychic properties of a dog's nose.
I told him to wait, and I would get him something different from the hallowed kitchen. But while I was executing said command, I heard him pouncing around out in the living room, toying with the trachea, as if it was still alive. As if it was a mouse still alive to be played with - before the mania and incessant mucous set in.
Then, he proceeded to love eating it. But, I was and am really impressed by his first stalling on this. It restores my faith in animal nature. And, well, fuck the damn cow and its mooful trachea, he taunted ironically. Let me tell you. Getting through that birth canal was hell enough for me. Everything else has sadly been blood or gravy.
I watched, "Across the Universe," again, and liked it even more. I shouldn't do these things because I am seriously being turned into a hippie. I have never known what I was doing with my life - or what was being done to me - but I have also learnt that, in some way, I have always been out there, ahead of the curb. So, probably, the time has come for us all to become hippies. The time is now. But seriously, that was a good movie. Future hippies unite.
My hair elongates at a perversely superhuman rate. I have found that all the females make a point of smiling at me, nowadays. Even if they are clearly conservabutts, in their conservamobiles, buying flowers for their conservaparrots. I get smiled at by ladies who are too old now, but they look like someone I would have closely affiliated with if they were a decade or two or three younger.
I go out and the humid weather splays all my hairs out into this insane display of hippiness - I swear to god my hair is black. It is like a flag I cannot control, shouting out, "Inconsequential sex available here! I'll just gladly go away when you're done. Like a sexy little hippie." What harm could be done?
At the main grocery store, I saw this short older man with what appeared to be a same-sized younger girl relative. They were nicely unto themselves. I liked that. Family. (I like it until I hate it). We both pursued our own different ways. But, at one point, I am going down an aisle, an the older guy appears at the open end I am approaching, and he clearly displayed - oh, consternation, befuddlement, apprehension, confusion - on his face. That means that the girl had been talking to him about me, and now he saw me. Then the girl shows up, and we give each other the longest look I ever remember giving anybody, really. I know that my pointy ears were sending out signals saying, "Hey, baby. It's OK, you can be a hippie with me!"
Getting real. I don't bring in any real money, and Donald Trump will make that worse. And yet now I want to date some kind of hippie girl. Where's she going to get money? It will only work if we are mutually bloodsucking Communists, living off the fat of the land, which will kill me with an early heart attack. Oh, whatever. Maybe she could be a pan-scouring wife who helps me in my pointless Dostoevskian writing career, which will only become appreciated when the world has imploded and there are only about three people left.
Then there was this. You know how beer commercials and bad high-school movies always have these slow-mo pics of the ultimate ideal hot chicks walking by the doods, flinging their hair and smiling, and shaking off herpes-ladenned sweat onto the camera lens?
While I was sitting outside the main store for an hour waiting for the bus, these two very little girls walked by and did the same thing to me - it was so sweet! They were little-sexy and all, but they also seemed like real people, and believe me, no matter what age, the secret behind sexiness is being real people - caring, thinking, liking, hoping wanting. I think these two were that way because they were not American - they were Latino, even though they didn't look Latino. What I could imagine is if they went to their single mom and told her that they saw this great guy that she should marry, and then they would end up being my loving daughters. I think I saw them walk away with their mother who was, as I predicted, some hot little Latin thing.
Oh - btw - I went into the bank today, before all this. There was American Girl, and she, despite having no rings on THAT finger, was being stand-offish to me, somewhat, but still professional nice-nice. This was because I had called her by name, last time. She made this weird long glance at the two other banker girls - the Polish lady and Indonesian Girl. Weirdness. I am some kind of topic I guess. Meanwhile, as Polish Girl looked on in stunness, I pull out these two long white earplug things out of my ears, lol. I am nothing but a story.
It is sad but predictable that American Girl, in her gaggle of normative bitches, should ultimately come to the conclusion that she is not interested in me, because I am poor, and money is rich. That is how I predicted it, whether or not we were ever in or out of any relationship. That's OK. Freedom above misunderstanding. I have watched so many people being swallowed away by the system before, including my siblings. It's predictable. At least right now, she is choosing to be uninterested in someone who is otherwise, all gossip aside, obviously very interesting. I can't help being interesting.
I don't see those hippie bracelets and medallions on her anymore. I guess she will never drive with me to me Sonoma. Cruel world.
So, after watching that movie again, I want to clue you to some awesomeness about the Beatles.
I could have added a fair amount to this. And, I have dark brown boots like these. I think they are called, "Dingo boots." (?) But I seriously want Beatles boots. Also, I want one of those Harrison guitars. Cultural impact of the Beatles.
And look at the endless covers!
So, here are some links from there that you and me oughtta check out, hey?...