i knew better, the road was too narrow to turn around, but i tried anyhow, and the front wheels of the van wound up in the ditch... i thought i could probably back out of it, but the van kept going, slowly, and dislodged a log from the retaining wall in front of the house where the store was.
the woman said, "get those surveyors' stakes and put tape up around the scene." and we did that... she moved the store to its winter quarters in the mall and did a land-office business.
the group session was a failure, the shrink disgraced, and the group left and scattered in relief, except she stayed with me... i told her to take her mask off, a boutique thing, custom designed in red, white and blue, over her forehead and eyes, expensive....she peeled it off and started crying, and said, "i'm not wrecked! ...i want you, stephen!" as if that proved something, and my heart sank.
the storekeeper said, "it's good fishing in that riffle below johnoson's hole."
there's a celtic tune called "road to lisdoonvarna"... i cant find a decent version of it.
it's a powerful tune when it's not being played by college pansies in suits, and you got to wonder why it's being ignored... probably one of those "jews vs druids" things.
at least the druids have had enough sense to hide out until the oily dust settles.
i was standing on the platform, waiting for a train, dressed in a cheap white shirt, cheap black pants and a black tophat.
the kind of clothes worn by temp food service workers in las vegas.
the engine had a ledge on the front, narrow, but you could stand on it... no handholds, and the ledge was so narrow that center of gravity was a problem... the train wasnt moving that fast, but as it went around a corner, i could feel the centrifugal force pulling at me, and i was afraid of falling off.
then i woke up, and wondered why, in the dream, i wasnt afraid of a sudden stop, that would have pitched me off onto the tracks, where i'd be run over by the engine.
it used to be that maybe one line in a song would convince you that the songwriter knew what was going on, but they had to disguise the song... it had to be a love song
the songwriters, in those days, were as young as taylor swift is now.
i dont want to jump to any conclusions, but
.
if we're terminally hitched to jewish philosophy, we're losers
seems unlikely that thoughtful songwriters are unaware of that.
the check crew showed up, the pilot climbed up, started the engine, engaged the rotors, and the crew chief yelled something at me from the cargo door as they prepared to taxi...
i couldnt hear him, put a headset on in time to hear the tower say something about the field being under attack...
then the helicopter was silhouetted against flashes on the other side of the field... mortars, and i'm thinking, "thank goodness they're on the other side of the field" because we were right on the perimeter...
i turned and looked across the fence... soldiers, caucasians in camo creeping under the juniper trees, close and coming fast...
i thought, "run" then i thought, "you're too old... you wont get 20 yards before you collapse"
...and i woke up as a wave of dismay swept over me
somebody's beating on the door, wakes me up... the neighbor... i go across the hall, watch the buildings fall down a few times, go back to my room and listen to NPR...
nina totenberg or mara liasson, one of the heavies, is talking from an FBI office in new york city...
she says, "the truth is real, real ugly"... bob asks her, "will it come out?" ...and she laughs and says, "oh, it'll come out, all right."
i listen for another couple days, waiting for the truth... it never comes out except for bibi, "it's very good."
so i sign up for the internet for the first time, looking for the truth, but the internet is already flooded with shitheads...
and now, eleven years later, still the same old nightmare...
.
how deep is the folk wisdom?
the kid on the bike says, on the morning of 9/11, "it's a jew thing."
i get drunk and piss in the elevator, and they throw me out.
folger's instant gets me feeling scattered.... mean, evil
i've known that for a long time, but sometimes i forget when it's on sale
.
the forest service guy has lots of time on his hands... he's the only permanent resident of a campground 7000 feet up in the sierras...
he says, "watch this" and pokes a twig into an ant lion trap
well, he's got time to do stuff like that... in fact, he has to do stuff like that to keep his mind occupied
.
i wonder who is better informed... people who watch reality, or people who watch "reality" produced by people who think they're powerful enough to create reality