S T R E A M # 3 4

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Start: There isn’t a time when I wouldn’t eat cheese at sunset in the park. No, I’ll eat cheese at any time, during sunset, in the park. Yes, I would not like to enjoy the turbulent kites of your apples. That makes all of us. When the eatery closes tonight, would you like to go back to my palace for a cup of pea soup? I make the very best pea soup. No, that’s a lie. I don’t make it, I get it out of the can. I’ll pour it into a bowl and stick it in the microwave for three and a half minutes. That’s the truth, Ruth. How are you today, Ruth? I haven’t met many Ruths in my time. Are you named after a relative? Tell me, Ruth, when the apples are ripe you do enjoy eating the worms that don’t want to leave them? Worms have a lot of protein, from what I understand. When I write, I almost always consider listening to a classical station in Wyoming via iTunes. Likewise, I almost always consider “tuning-in” to the same station, “Classical Laramie,” when I read. Unlike WFMT in Chicago, “Classical Laramie” doesn’t play much (if any) opera (at least they don’t when I “tune-in”), and they keep the chatter to a minimum (at least they do when I “tune-in”), and their play-list is rather conservative (at least it is when I etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera). This is good, because I don’t need the music to distract me while I read or write – although I do prefer the presence of some instrumental music when I read or write. [No more. Nowadays, I listen to silence. Nowadays, I cram the “noise cancelling” “pods” into my ears not to listen to music, but to drown out all the various and competing dins of the city.] Pop had a very bad night last night. I wasn’t going to write about it. He had a lot of diarrhea and he had to vomit a lot. Whenever this happens, it always happens after midnight – typically between 1 AM & 3 AM. When you hear him retching you fear for his life. He barfed up all the “Pepto-Abysmal” (what he calls it) after taking three sips from a baby can of “Sprit” what he calls it). Some of it fell short of the target and landed on the bathroom floor. The toilet was a chunky pink – brown – beige mess. Whilst waiting for it to end, I found myself missing all of the people I’ve abandoned. That’s too strong of a word, “abandoned.” Just because I’m attempting to shift and hone the focus of my life doesn’t mean that I’ve abandoned anybody. How am I inaccessible? The only thing you can’t do is fax me. (I don’t own a fax machine.) I want to be light-hearted and independent. I want to find humor in everything. Positivity is at the root of all strength. (Muscle mass won’t hurt, either.) The objective: be outrageously, furiously positive. Fake it till you have a zealot’s faith in the fakery. Sulking is of no use. Dwelling is of little, if any, use. Must reprogram. Must overwrite the existing code. Must check on Pop. He’s late to rise. Don’t end up like him – an increasingly confused, depressed, shallow, and ultimately faded facsimile of who he was ten years ago. Must find the humor in losing my balance. Must find the humor in lactose-intolerance. Must find the humor in memory loss. Must find the humor in decay and chaos and loss – because that’s all any of us have to look forward to. Pop just stumped down the stairs and told me that he feels a lot better. Bottom, and then some, reached. 
2 July 2008 


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