"a temporary mass grave for 400"
|
may 11
Sara, from the Bay Area
But my friend there is behind du temps as far as les net goes. SARA,
...you will drop all your plans today, only so you might PRINT out a few
of these postings and take them to Randy.
Do this in la nom du JEEZY WEEZY.
And today, I got up - drank coffee and wrote randomly to the Vancouver
Film School mentioning a bookstore on Granville St. and a dream up in smoke.
....onwards ....YOU computer people are crawling everywhere. Quite
unsettling. Here I remain in this triple Xtra large casket, a temporary
mass grave for 400, AND I'm less rottedest corpse in town. Today, a hideous
bastard washed up on this beach AGAIN - this is his forth time while I've
been here. Brings about awful memories of the first months. Les cycle just
spins and spins. Les eeky squeeky bycycle du justice rolls on. But I can
almost HEAR the hideous villagers as they scrape les dirt from les casket.
If there are no absurd interuptions, I will take flight as soon as the
slab is pulled from me. Many of you express distaste for les entity known
as Matthews - les junkie - who serves as les "webmaster." Auntie BJ made
allusions to his truthfulness is a recent email - and all along, the many
have made reference to his brand du maturity. Can you imagine, my eels,
can you picture that he controls les breathing apparatus around which I
revolve there months. If YOU were in eine casket equipt with a breathing
tube to les great outmonde, would you find it HYSTERICAL to have les fumes
du smoke come wafting thru ZANYLIKE? How many times have I suggested via
a SOUNDBYTE, in a non acceptable collect call, that he do us both a favor
and commit suicide. But, (not knowing what to do) 'ne sachant que faire'
we both go ONWARDS.
And that's what I did a few years back... onwards... onwards... onwards.
THE BUS RIDE ACROSS THE BAY BRIDGE IS NOT STORED IN MEMORY. STOP. The
last thing I remember of San Francisco was staring at the ground, waiting.
STOP. Upon arrival across the bay at the Emeryville train station. I recall
a delay. STOP. Seems to me that darkness fell at embarkation. STOP.
I had ordered myself a sleeper. STOP. I was glad I did. STOP. I still haven't
paid. STOP. I was reading a book - a very large and bleak one that belonged
to the S.F. Public Library. STOP. They never got it back. STOP. I
gift wrapped it and left it in Vancouver with graffiti in it. STOP. But
we are getting ahead of ourselves... (yield)... because we want to live
in les future not les sad past. STOP. It was disappointing to be unable
to see beyond my little cube. STOP. And the young couple across the hall
were TOO happy. STOP. I'm sure I had a few drinks from les club car or
else I would not have run into my neighbors (whose Joy shamed me) several
times. STOP. But alcohol was not a major feature that night. STOP. I was
STRICKEN. STOP. Anyone could see. STOP. Maladroit. STOP. Les uppity beayatch
in charge of my car took an INSTANT disliking to me. STOP. I found, crumpled
on les floor in my compartment, an Amtrak map proving you could purchase
a ticket thru Vancouver. STOP. But les bitch on les phone du previous
week insisted I could NOT. STOP. Oh, these little things, how they were
like nails in les eyes in this period. STOP. And so, for now, I was headed
to Seattle. STOP. A miserable wretch in Seattle ~imagine that! STOP. The
train went on and on and on thru the nite. STOP. I'm sure it passed many
cabins en la forete.
J.T.Colfax
(continues tomorrow.)
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