Friday, October 27, 2006

Lonesome and the Yellow Light

The Rockrose Moon (A Serial Fiction) Part 18

Poor Christian is really struggling with a bad tooth. He’s only working part time doing set-up and dishes at the church my photographer friend works at. He went off to some sliding scale dental clinic this afternoon to see if he could get the offender tooth yanked out.

Before he did though, he wrote a blog entry about a poet we both admire, the mysterious and multitalented Weldon Kees. Man, Kees knew how to wear a hat!

The thing I know about him was that his cat was named Lonesome and when he disappeared one dark night in San Francisco his friends took Lonesome in.

Christian (like most guys I know) is way more reactive and competitive than he’d like to admit. He reads and is often inspired to respond to Duncan’s blog. Duncan is also writing about his favorite poets. Or at least the poets he has been told are good by the loathsome fat old arbitrator of taste Harold Bloom. Ewww.

I’m all for reading other’s people’s opinions but Jeezaruni, can’t we make up our own minds about what is good? I guess not.

When my parents died they left life insurance proceeds in trust for me. They didn’t want me to be a “trust fund baby” so I just get a stipend to cover the basics, rent and food and transportation. I have to work for my cigarette money. My Aunt pays for my health insurance out of the trust. I so wish Christian had something like that!

I love the fattening crescent moon. We are having such clear cold evenings with these very atmospheric foggy mornings. The combo deal of the damp fog (speaking of San Francisco) and the fact that all the trees appear to be in their yellow phase makes the light just fascinating.

This morning I was thinking what if an alien came here for the first time. An alien with perceptions enough like ours, they would think this was a sulfurous pit of a place. Something I expect Christian feels a bit of. When one is in pain, the world sucks rocks, big time.

Or maybe it is all just preparation for The Day of the Dead. A celebration that makes so much more sense then handing out candy to children who have everything they could ever need anyway.

I think I’m going to be a barnacle this year. I’ll smell like wet pilings and stay put.


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