If Life Exists

Saw D in my office today.  Frantic at first, as usual, but easily settled by my mellifluous voice and calm demeanor.

People yearn to be comforted.  Did you know, Dear Eater?  Surely you did, if not before you met me, doubtless now you understand a person's need for comfort.  An understanding nod at an opportune time, sometimes, is all it takes.

D confided in me about many troubles, all stemming from certain knowledge of someone lurking unseen inside D's squat suburban domicile.  D's rational mind knows it's impossible, of course.  But D's intuition is strong, and not so easily disabled by reason.

For a counselor of less flexible mind, it would be a pitfall.  A bad liar would join a growing din of doubters, assuring D it is not possible, so clearly not possible for someone to remain unseen in a place for so long, waiting, lurking, seeing but not being seen.  Before long trust would be eroded, until D gradually drifted away, wandering until finally discovering someone else...  someone like myself.  Someone to comfort.  Someone to believe.

It is easy for me to believe, of course.  An unseen figure is indeed lurking in D's darkened corners.

I know because D's unseen figure is me.

Drain You

Back from my appointment and I've barely sufficient energy to type a single word.  Certainly I would like to lay down in a nice soft bed and fall asleep now, early as it is, but I know my obligation to you is a solemn one.  You need to know.  So I sit.  And I write.

I went to D's place again.  It was just as it's been for several weeks, D pounding out emails and text messages and calling everyone in town trying to convince someone, anyone of a reality only D can perceive.  Trying to convince a skeptical world I exist.  Gradually D is losing credibility, stranded in a cocoon of madness like Cassandra.  It is troubling, but for now I can see little to be done about it.

It all began as a bit of conjecture - I postulated I could best learn to observe someone alone by first exploring a person's alone places, empty of my actual subject.

I committed my first break-in 3 weeks ago today. I avoided a common pitfall by selecting my target - E - not for some painfully Freudian pseudosexual reason but because I imagined E was especially obtuse about noticing surroundings.  I noticed E because keys were frequently dangling from E's front door.  It was not a great leap for me to assume I'd find it quite easy to gain access to E's place.

All backstory, of course.  I imagine you're more interested in Now, aren't you, Dear Eater.  Wondering about my appointment at D's.  Wondering if anyone is coming.

All in due time.  I am starving, aren't you?  I must cook a fine dinner.  I've some difficult decisions to make, and Hungry decisions are never well made ones.

back soon

dbj

Get Some

I suppose reading Klosterman's book was a mistake.  Of course Klosterman made a mistake writing it - a conclusion  so obvious we need not write too many words about it.  But reading it may be an an even bigger mistake.

If you're unfamiliar (and I strongly suggest you stay so) our favorite middlebrow sportswriter a few years ago crapped out a standard-issue Counselor-to-a-Bad-Guy novel.  No real twists, unimaginative, forgettable stuff for sure, but I really was angry at Klosterman's lazy, sloppy treatment of our "villain's" project.

Surely more imaginative ways exist, I was certain, to make use of effective invisibility.  Figure it out and you don't need to resort to lazy nonsense about computer networks making us lonely and antisocial (very original, CK, bravo, BTW 1987 called - it wants its dystopian future back) or drawn-out, flaccid passages building to crescendoes of utter narrative paralysis.  

Our first task of course is effective invisibility itself.  We needn't put it in fantastic terms - our problem is quite simple.  Can we see and not be seen?  A new Sweet Science, we could say, for a more visual age.  

I would say more but due to circumstances quite beyond my control, and closely connected to our unfolding narrative, time is precious and I must away.  After I return to my House I will explain.  

dbj

tit for tat time time and time again

blue honey blue honey blue honey is back
MJ Rules I'm not supposed to talk about
Pistons type stuff

knock down, get up, knock down
same time every trip
guru of go meets gregor clegane

inside outside inclusion exclusion
you got tools, just missing one
and not even
just say blue, eh?

pulling no punches (for Kurt)

it was his habit to play his guitar as he drew his bath

he would lift the crystal handle of the valve and run his right hand down the faucet

under the water to feel the cold flush of october's icy wind

in that fleeting moment before the hot water heater had time

to force its angry cargo into the tub

it was his only means of relaxing, and he used it too rarely

if his hair was matted and oily Karen would eye him warily

and the children would always remember to play in another room

never asking where they'd left their shoes

in the bath he was a boy again

it was here he chuckled over his children's scattered bath toys

longed for ice cream and resolved to teach his son to dribble a basketball

the first time he struck one of them in anger was in a dream

too vivid to be real and too disturbing to be anything but an ill omen

he woke thinking of his father and trying to remember his face

no one saw it coming

least of all Will

sitting in his bath

dreaming of sunshine

and the open road

dead bones

my story did not get in

so

back tomorrow to regular programming

sunday my funday vol. 2

wow waiting on tenter, erm

never mind,

says i

wild anticipation

pained suspense

i must ask

dear eater blue

what sweetness've we rot

under our rare moon

toasters warm asleep under sacred ground

a spirit sits atop a mound of new black soil

yet unseen

inside blue midnight's spinning globe

our catacomb awaits