March 08, 2005

Connect nothing with nothing!

One.
Katie West hugged me warmly and told me about drowning in foam on her trip to Mexico.

“Mexico is like that,” I said. “Lovely and deadly.”

“And drowning is ecstatic,” she said. She told me that when your lungs are full of foam, you relax and float towards the bottom, eyes glazed with wonder.

Two.
“Your blog is less crazy now than last year,” Nadine said. Back then I had wilder ideas and pictures of my ass everywhere. I wanted to write novels about bunnies fucking. I wanted to make love in Gazebos and raft down the Grand River.

All of my crazy plans collapsed in a moment of ecstasy.

Three.
I put my visionary Indian friend’s naked ass in bed after I ate his pie and drank his booze. After seven nights of lust, his woman ran away across the continent; he pulled a long face and told me he misses her like crazy. I sang him songs and read him stories until he fell unconscious.

After I turned off the lights I ruffled his hair and went next door to sleep in a roomful of dead and murderous-looking flowers. He bought them for her. Love always decays ungracefully; that’s why we have booze.