XTC Towers of London plays in my head. And a great song is a great single, great picture (please leave leave) sleeve. And also had a good b-side and I do not remember the name of that b-side perhaps it was the Somnambulist (some namulist).
fuck you
This dictation is killing me
I am at the belly of the fruit stand today. I have a better approach to it, perhaps it’s because I had a very good night’s sleep last night. And I am been very productive this morning now it is 12:16 p.m. and I am on my lunch since Violet requested lunch at 1:00 I of course defer to her judgment
Bill is under the weather. He’s been sniffling and coughing for the past 48 hours. Last night I thought I was coming down with it but today I feel a whole lot better so I don’t think I’m coming down with it so I am exposed to whatever it is that he has.
I also take public transportation surrounded by people that have who knows what
And since I’m in the belly of the fruit stand I am in that concrete park a (blocker) block away having a small cigar watching various people on their 12:00 lunch hour (to drink it) doing whatever it is that they do.
But I’m being productive which is very good cuz usually I’m clumsy and different passing things to Violet that I can’t handle but today I seem to have a grip on things
Had a dream involving the E Street Band being at Maxwell’s. It was peculiar in the last dream that I recall before waking up 5 minutes before the alarm clock. Bruce walked in towards the end.
(The bill) Bill is slowly recovering from whatever he has and he’s going to be gone from the 19th for 9 days. Mike is getting over whatever he had last weekend so who knows? He does plan on coming over once Bill hits the road but who knows how that will work out specially since his parole officer decides things at the most inopportune times
And even talking to Yancy today hasn’t been that bad. He’s been amiable. There is a get-together after work tomorrow at the belly of the fruit stand but I do not think I will attend since I have to attend to Bill getting better and then hitting the road.
(Anne Murray Anne Murray) Annemarie and Rex have returned from the south of France so I guess we will be falling into that routine of Saturday phone calls. Exciting!
Today is Wednesday September 16th and it is another lovely Summer afternoon. I hope it holds up until this evening when I go home at 5:00 p.m. I will swing by and say hello to (hero day) Roda on my way home.
I had a charming encounter with a French coworker that I never met before. At least, I thought it was charming.
Perhaps a Samuel Beckett essay will follow.
Samuel Beckett meets Google Gemini again
*Towers of London*. Repeating inside the skull, a small needle stuck in the groove. A good single. A picture sleeve—*please leave, leave*—and a side B, buried in the mud of the brain. The somnambulist. The sleepwalker. Gone.
The dictation is a corpse. It kills.
Here again, in the belly of the fruit stand. 12:16 p.m. Waiting on Violet, who prefers her sustenance at one. One defers. One always defers to Violet.
Bill coughs. Bill sniffles. Forty-eight hours of leaking fluids. I thought myself infected last night, but the body persists, unbothered, exposed to whatever rot he carries. That, and the public transit—a rolling container of the afflicted. So I sit in the concrete park, a block removed, a small cigar burning down to the yellow fingers, watching the others on their hour of freedom doing whatever it is they pretend to do.
Yet, progress. An anomaly. Usually I am clumsy, indifferent, passing the heavy things to Violet when the grip fails. Today the hands hold.
Before the alarm—five minutes before the merciful bell—the E Street Band was at Maxwell’s. A dream. Bruce entered near the end. A strange apparition to carry into the dawn.
Bill recovers slowly, then vacates on the nineteenth for nine days. Mike, too, recovers from his own recent decay. He says he will come when Bill is gone. Or he will not. The parole officer will decide, arriving always at the worst possible instant.
Even Yancy was bearable today. Amiable, almost. There is a gathering after hours tomorrow in the belly, but I shall not go. There is Bill to tend to, and then his departure.
Annemarie and Rex are back from the south of France. The Saturday calls will resume. The routine. The excitement.
Wednesday, September 16th. Summer persists, indifferent to us. I will leave at five, if five ever comes. I will stop by to see Roda.
A French coworker spoke to me today. Someone unknown. A charming encounter, I thought. Or perhaps not. No matter.