Last night, my neighbor upstairs talked with me on my way out.  She said that when talking with others, she refers to me as, “the creature of the night,” as she only usually sees my fedora hooded head passing by when she takes a smoke on her patio in the early AM ticks and tocks.

 

“What a coincidence…that’s what I have on my business cards…”

 

So I went searching for some old neighbor friends that used to live near me on compass…but whom I lost contact with.  There’s a bar they teneded to frequent on weekdays, so I went there.  On my way in, I noticed the entrance crawling with extra, befuddled security staff…this surely meant something interesting was afoot (this is the same joint that I witnessed a fight between two girls last year…where in one lady bit a chunk of flesh off of the upper chest of another lady…nice place).

 

One security guard looks in my direction (while I’m still a distance away) and gets the attention of the others.  An accusing finger is pointed.

 

Uh-oh.

 

“Hey big-guy, you’re not getting in,” says the biggest guard.

 

“O . . . K?”

 

Then the guard that originally noticed me blinked a few times and said, “No…he’s alright.  Let him in.  That’s not him.”  The rest of them looked me over a bit more closely and in I went.

 

What I got out of further murmurs was that someone looking like me had caused some kind of trouble (and that means something at this place) and they were on the look out for his return.

 

My only worry was that some patron would confuse me too and my drinking would be interrupted by some guy yelling, “It’s you!  You killed my brother you bastard!!!” punctuated with a chair to my head.

 

No chairs to the head.  No old neighbors.

 

This creature of the night went back home and spent the rest of the darkly hours going through his music library and putting together a soundtrack to his thesis.

 

I just finished it now – roughly 400 songs to listen to while I finish writing this thing.

 

Now I’m off to Andiamo’s for come coffee and some writing.

 

And by the by – if you see me in the near future – and I do something really awful – it might not be me…

Bare with me…I’m a little buzzed…maybe really buzzed.  I was downtown (such as it is in this town) briefly, and now I’m back on campus, drinking solo.  I had some rum…but I think I’m more messed up from the rum dipped cigarillos (I just smoked a whole pack of them).

 

Pleasant buzz…

 

Earlier tonight I had my first short fiction class of the year.  It’s filler really, I have all my hours, I just need to finish the thesis (and have enough hours to get my loan money in the meantime).  It’s taught by one of my old writing buddies…the lovely Joanna Tweedy Wilmore.  Even better, her, I and the rest of the old crew will be meeting up sometime real soon.  I miss those guys.  I feel fairly centered in their company.

 

I’m the only grad student in this class (big fish in a little pond).  The woman I pared (paired?) up with to exchange and and (where did that renegade “and” come from???) critique stories with, said she was very impressed with my command of words.  She said she didn’t feel qualified to critique my work (which was very nice of her to say).  I assured her that wasn’t the case and and (ah!!!) I valued her opinion (which I did…it’s the foolish, arrogant prick who doesn’t find some value in audience input).  And wouldn’t you know it, a part that she didn’t quite understand (and a word that she had never heard of) gave me some insight into what I need to change in the piece.

 

Over the weekend I say…saw the movie CITY OF LOST CHILDREN…because two people (who don’t even know each other) said I had to see this French film.  And indeed they were right.  It’s one of those imagination expanding experiences…and I like my imagination with extra stretch marks and a whole litter of birthed, chimerical critters.

 

I’m having trouble getting brain waves to my fingers…so I think I’ll stop typing…

So last week was frustrating.

So I escaped central IL and sought refuge in Chicago – friends I hadn’t seen in almost a year – then to home – then good coffee and rum dipped cigarillos, outside, in the middle of the night – and lazing and movies…and I felt better.

I discovered Dunkin’ Doughnuts coffee really is good, and snuck a few bags back to Springfield with me (this city apparently has no Dunkin’ Doughnuts).

On the way back to school, I was in a fender-bender. Doh!!! No real damage done. No injuries. The lady was pretty good humored about it. But I was mad at myself. I’ve avoided accidents on icy skids and even dodged several cars when my breaks gave out on one of my old beaters…this shouldn’t have been difficult to avoid.

A neck rub would help…but Lenore is not cooperating. She is jutting her head out of her hiding place every time I walk by, which means she’s hungry enough that I’d better feed her tomorrow, and thus save central Illinois from certain doom.

Speaking of my serpent, she is officially the size that, while not representative of the total adult mass of North America’s largest serpent (she is only a year old), is large enough that if someone were to find it in their basement, in a state like Illinois, they would go to their neighbor and say, “Bob, there is a big f#$%’n snake in my basement.” Names may vary. Only said in participating states.

I’ve noticed, going in to pet shops and buying fuzzy snake food, that the conversations that ensue are not unlike those that might be pontificated on when a guy goes into a car shop for a part for his [insert prize muscle car]. In fact, take a look at this hypothetical (but representative) conversation between me and a pets shop clerk. Replace “snake” with “car” – “feeding” for “driving” – species with model – “fuzzies” with [insert car accessory] – “mouse” with “mile” – “quail” with “kilometer” – and so on and so forth:

Pet Clerk: What can I get you?
Josh: I need four fuzzies.
PC: Sure. What are you feeding?
J: Snake.
PC: What kind?
J: Eastern Indigo
PC: Serious?
J: Oh yeah.
PC: Sweeeeet. What year?
J: ‘04
PC: You get her with red sides or solid black?
J: Solid black.
PC: Nice. We get a lot of wannabe snake guys in here, but that’s hardcore. You can take her out legally?
J: I got a permit.
PC: How fast does she go?
J: Oh…about two mice a minute.
PC: Cool.
J: Or three quail a minute…if you use them.
PC: I never have.
J: I think use them a lot in Europe.
PC: Oh.

And now I wait to see what the word is on the Voodoo Music Fest in New Orleans this Halloween. With the hurricane it might be cancelled. Of course…that’s a pretty minor thing compared to what the poor folks of that city are going through. And what other thoughts run through your head when such a cool city gets attacked by violent storms, besides, “Oh God…some fundamentalist got a hold of a weather machine.”

Cold kills broccoli and hurricanes threaten music.

But all in all…I still welcome the sound of thunder.

Was in a stupid car accident today.

I’ll update more later.

I’m OK.

 Nothing broken…

 

No foul…

 

Nothing lost…except a bit of time.

 

No foul…

 

Why am I still tense then?

 

So I swam, against current, through a river of shit this week, struggling against the sluggish-sucky-stinking-slimy slick of this school’s heavy inertia’d bureaucracy, and had to leap a mighty feces fall, the climax of BS, today.

 

The easier thing about Eureka (and everyone complains about the bureaucracy of their school) is that no matter how disorganized the system was…there were only so many places the buck could get passed, only so far it could go, only so much rope to hang…

 

Yeah.

 

But this place, larger than Eureka and part of a larger family of schools, has uncharted wastelands, copious vacuums for the happy little buck to dance and frolick and shit on your parade.

 

Finding ANYTHING out (like why your account is frozen and you can’t sign up for classes) takes a minimum of five offices and a week.  No one has the answer.  Every one has a piece of an answer and you kind of have to put it all together – archeological training without the degree.

 

You have to take this exit exam so you know about paying back loans…you have to fill out this I-understand-the-laws-of-gravity safety sheet by Student Life (so you can’t sue them for forgetting that you can’t leap off of roofs and bounce to safety). Then you have to read the “Gravity-Safety-Brochure, to make sure that you indeed do understand that you can’t jump of off roofs and bounce ot safety.   And it’s safety this and monitor that and wouldn’t you know if I’m snuggled safely in a blankey of forms and brochures.

 

Never mind the paper cuts kid.

 

I have imaginary friends I still keep around…to brutally murder (thus keeping real folk safe), for just such maddening situations.

 

Then, today, I had to take my computer in (the whole tower).  This year, the school requires anyone who wants to hook up to the net, to put all this safe guarded, squeaky clean network software on our computers (so they can limit our activities and “keep track” of what we do online).

 

That, right there, disagrees with my stomach.  But I go in.  Hours later the stuff is finally on my computer.  I’m still not fully unpacked, still don’t have all my classes figured out and I have to do this.  I get back to my room.  I log on the network (like I’d do on one of the library or lab computers) and I’m on as my school network account…only…like the lab/library computers, I don’t have access to MY programs/games/files/music.

”Where’s my shit?”

 

“Where’s all the writing I’ve ever committed to computer?”

 

“WHERE, for the love of monkeys, is my THESIS?!?”

 

ARGH!!!!!!! !@@!#!@#!@#!@#!@#

 

I tried logging off and turning my computer back on…but there was no getting on the old way…I had to log on under a name.  This computer wasn’t originally mine…I didn’t know if it used to have a password or what the “name” was or if I’d changed it when I’d gotten it a few weeks ago.  The program also slowed my computer way, way down, freezing it for half minute intervals constantly, slowing my investigation, trying to stop me.

 

They took my computer away from me.

 

OK…no prob.  I went to System Restore, to bring my computer back to a time before the devil network, erase the beast.  Then…the computer does a funny thing.  It tells me I am not “authorized” to commit this act, that I should speak to an administrator.  I’m not authorized to use my own F*&%ing computer!

 

And where’s my thesis?

 

The computer gave me no answers…as it wasn’t really mine anymore.

 

That’s when I typed the post that was originally going to go on my journal today.  It consisted mostly of swear words, invented swear words, curses, something about wishing the children of the programmers and administrators would eat their wombs, and other bits of hateful creativity.  At some point I paused…and…rather than finish and send it, opted to throw an object across my room and into a wall, and take a walk (several times) around campus.

 

I came back and, after much trial and error, found a way to get on my computer and erase all traces of the evil network.  It’s gone.  I’m not putting it back.  Maybe they’ll shut the internet in my room off, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it (and any tech trolls living under said bridge better watch the fuck out).

 

Bah.  I didn’t realize how wound tight this week has made me until today.  Anger usually passes over me pretty quickly – rain off of glass.  But it’s still nestled and chirping in all my extremities.  I don’t want to get off on a righteous, rebellious rant…but this is no good.  People give up freedoms for the appearance of safety.  They want control of my computer?  My workstation?  My plasma filled cauldron of word witchery?  Fuck that.  They can pry my keyboard from my cold, dead hands – and I swear to Plato, Cerberus, and all the shades of Limbo, that I’ll find a way back into my body so I can smash them over the head with said key board…and then they’ll have a keyboard wielding zombie on their hands and what are they going to do…

 

…

 

…I’m going to try and sleep now.

I live!

 

But just barely.  I’m drained.  I’m still recovering from the weekend and the move down the Springfield and the unpacking (which STILL isn’t quite done).  I’ve even been falling asleep before the sun marches into the sky.  Stranger and stranger…

 

So here is just a quick barrage of random things…we’ll pretend it’s a proper update:

 

-Apparently, White Wolf is just now getting to this rounds entries in their novel contest.  I won’t find out if I advanced until Halloween day.  This could, in theory, make for a very fine Halloween for me.

 

-Thursday I went down to Eureka (last Thursday…I realize It’s now Thursday…).  The next day a group of us had to get up, early, and brave the sun in Springfield at the State Fair to put on a demonstration of stage combat on behalf of Eureka college…come for the Reagan bust…stay for the swords.  Nick and I did some magic as well.  None of us had picked up a sword or done a warm up since the workshop…and we were rusty.  We had some trouble remembering how the fight went…but it did eventually come back and I did find that my pelvis could still do the things it had been trained to do…only with soreness to follow the next day.  I can’t wait till my and Nick’s swords actually come in so we can practice this more regularly.

 

-The rest of Friday was spent in a state of sun–sick haze.

 

-Saturday I woke up early, again.  This time it was so Torrie and I could hit a music festival in Chicago, by the lake.  It was pretty cool.  Too much sun again…and this time my arms and face turned a bit red.

 

-There is more vitamin D in my system than has existed for years.

 

-Sunday I went with Torrie to her brother’s girl friend’s birthday party.  Torrie’s mom introduced me to someone with the best introduction I’ve ever gotten, “Joshua:  parrot head, poet, and wanderer in the dark.”  I want that on a dust jacket…or my tombstone!

 

-At that dinner, I had the BLOODIEST steak I’ve ever had.  I like rare meat…and I’m used to having to overemphasize how rare to get it at the level I want…but this place delivered and I ended up with something rarer than even I’m used to.  I looked down to my plate to see something from animal planet (only lions are usually munching on it).  Sometimes I say I like a little blood with my steak…but this time I got some a little steak with my blood.

 

-At some point I moved my stuff to Springfield.  It’s hazy.  There was a lot of driving back and forth.  And now’s it’s Thursday in the am and I am tired.

 

So…until I regain conciousness (and hopefully a little more of it) – this is your friendly neighborhood parrot head, poet, and wanderer in the dark.

 

Night kids.

Random Question:

What is the perscribed way to clean a plasma screen? What kind of object (silk, paper towl, etc.)? What kind of medium (water, windex, dry)?

And the little girl asked, “How old is the Ashen Angel?”

 

And a crow kawed, “Older than the Light and younger than the Darkness.”

 

And somewhere in Limbo, the Ashen Angel asked, “How long?”

 

And the silence answered forever.

 

 

“I’m down in a hole

Loosing my soul

I’d like to fly

But my wings have been so denied.”

-Alice in Chains, “Down in a Hole”

 

Quick update…

This weekend was the Slip N’ Slide party. Enjoy the picks at the bottom of the post.

We slid, we drank, we talked, we laughed, we did many other things besides. Some of us laughed at the opening scene to the original Batman movie (with Adam West). I sang “The Necrophiliac Blues” (a song I wrote one day, bored in a car), in the voice of Christopher Walken (thus combining two impractical skills in the name of drunken entertainment).

I have to say…with no sleep and spending time with the few revelers still reveling after sunrise, with strangeness flowing easily from my mouth and laughs and laughs – I felt more like myself than I have in a while.

Today (last night rather) I saw Green Day for free, in Chicago, quite unexpectantly. Thanks Rich!

Talked with my advisor who has recently gotten married and is in academic seclusion, her email and phone number known only to me and maybe another couple people connected with school (she’s taking a year off to write…but still will advise me to my graduation bless her luminous soul). I have an actual deadline now for my rough draft of my epic – as late as I can go and still be in scheduel to graduate in December. September 26th. Good. I think I can do that. Ray Bradbury wrote The Martian Chronicles in ten days…so I’d hope I can do it.

There’s more, I’m sure…but I am tired.

PS – If you’ve been trying to get a hold of me in the last two weeks, and I’ve been neglegant in getting back to you…my appologies. My cell phone and I were having relationship issues…we’re going to hang out together more and see how it goes.

OK…we do have karaoke for the party. It’s digital and I can download songs off the net…so if you manage to see this before tomorrow (as in…tonight) go ahead and rattle off requests.