A whole week of being sick.
Freaking waste of time.
It was punctuated with some pretty strange fever dreams. I can’t go into all of them, for lack of time and lack of memory, but let’s touch on one, one that was brief and one that I remember so well that a person could probably recreate if for me, with flash animation . . .
. . . my dream was a music video, all music and fast moving camera view. It was a video for a techno style number, the kind with a manic bass, synthesized music, and flashing various late-night city scenes. It was also the sort of techno track that involves just one word, repeated in various ways, in a rough, gravely, cool voice. That word was “La Bodega.”
“La Bodega . . . La-La Bodega . . . Laaaaa Bodeeeega . . . La Bodega . . .”
And as the beat picks up, we see the source of the voice, at least in this video: Will Ferrell’s disembodied head. So Will’s Ferrell’s head is floating through the cityscape, saying, “La Bodega” with stranger and stranger facial expressions (he’s really hamming it up).
And then I wake up. Only I have no idea what the word “La Bodega” means or where it came from, so I look it up online . . . apparently is means “wine cellar” or some such. Does anyone know of a techno or dance track that repeats “la bodega,” one that I might have heard (or has my diseased imagination made this from whole-cloth)?
Saturday, still sick, I went to a Catholic Charismatic Convention with my Grandma and cousins. It wasn’t something I had looked forward to, but I found myself unable to say no to my Grandma (especially after she went all the way down to my awards ceremony for my Thesis…though I suspect part of the reason she wanted me to go, in the first place, was at the horror of hearing what my thesis was about…voodoo and fallen angels…tI was a little relieved that I wasn’t scheduled for an exorcism). It was a . . . strange day. I hadn’t been to church in years (“wayward” would be the pseudo-polite/pseudo-passive-aggressive term my former fellows might use) and I went through meetings, testimonies, confession, mass, the Eucharist, and the whole shebang in one day. There were persuasive speakers. There were some of the elements that I still find asinine . . . and there was a strange, diametrically opposed sensation of emotions: the irritation at being dragged there – and genuinely feeling touched that I have family members that worry about my spiritual being (even when I disagree). There’s more to write on this…but I have to digest it.
That weekend, I also got to play some old, childhood video games with Steve, thanks to an emulator that converts my childhood past…into something that will actually play on a modern computer. I also got to eat some lovely meals prepared by Heidi (who is a great nurse and is probably the only reason I survived my travels, while sick, that weekend).
A recent internet conversation with Wil, went something like this:
Wil : . . . and then writers came up. I made a comment . . . then immediately retracted it in my head.
Wil: About how anyone who would call themselves a writer is clearly a fuck-head and something else derogatory.
Wil: Then i thought of you.
Me: I usually go by “Writer.”
Wil: You aren’t as flaky as, oh, say, anyone I’ve ever met who claims to be a writer.
Me: “Fuck-head” doesn’t fit on the business card.
Not so long ago, my wonderful pet serpent, Lenore, was an oft featured part of this journal. I used to even keep a death count on all the rodents that met their doom in her belly. It’s been awhile since I’ve updated. Lenore is now 2 years and 8 months old and is about 59 inches (maybe 6 feet) in length. I’ve lost count of the dead rodents…but here are some pics I just took, to keep you busy.
Click here if you want to SOLVE A PUZZLE AND ENTER A REALM OF SURREAL MADNESS (and who doesn’t?).
What am I forgetting…oh yes…
Hypno-Toad commands you to go to Twilight Tales, this Monday (the 5th) at the Red Lion Pub at 7:30 PM, where there will be open Mic and where Joshua will read a story. You will do this. You must do this. Obey Hypno-Toad. There is no argument, there is no dissent, there is no resistance. There is only Hypno-Toad.
awww. i remember when she was a wee little snake. i wanna see her. i’ll make sure to brush all the cat dander and stuff away.
The lights reflecting off of Lenore make her scales look luminescent. Very pretty.
Dude, Lenore is beautiful. Wow. That snake is massive, too.
Re: Insanity, prom dates and the Novel. I’m with you brother, though I’ve hit a bit of a calm spot right now. Beaten into submission maybe.
At some point I’ll need to email the Man in Atlanta again, but right now it seems so pointless. What better promise could he give that we haven’t already been given?