Summer 2001

06/22/01

What makes adults think that they can behave like fools because they're
old enough? I think that I will train my child, if I have one, to
ethically antagonize arrogance. That makes no sense. I can just train
others' children to ethically antagonize arrogance. A nursery job, that
is an idea. To have perhaps an even greater impact I could become a
school teacher or something, but then I'd have to be a school teacher.

If I could just replicate two bastard children of the cosmos I could
quit my job as a teacher and then set out with a blowgun and some
xylazine.


06/25/01

I just realized that I am homosexual. My penis warms my heart. I love
the morning sun on my feet. I can sleep with my sheet and let my feet stick out and they get all warm. It
makes me feel sort of like
an Iguana lying on it's back. Heard word from Greece or Venice and wish
that I had the money to buy an apartment and get a stupid job that left me
in some quiet perfect state when I am finished.

I went to St. John the Divine for Sunday AM services. Something about
lightning had struck the regular altar so we all sat up in the main altar
which was very dark and cool and had these bleachers that we sat in
solitude in. Each chair had a sort of ceiling and walls.

I don't understand the "Peace be with you" crap but it sounds a little
cool. They're only saying that "Peace be with you" nonsense because
they're around other catholics or Episcopalians or whatever. I forgot
what they were doing and I'm replying, "and nice to meet -you-, nice to
meet you, nice to meet you" It's a little embarrassing.

I danced until 4 in the morning on Friday in some sweaty focus. A
little lightship boat that had been submerged and now is a venue for
rascally parties.


06/26/01

I Saw The Wild Ones in Bryant Park last night. I accidentally put on a
rather smelly shirt when I left the house. I wish that I had been
comfortable and crisp and that the people there weren't doing stupid lawn
things like throwing inflatable balls around. People started jumping up
and worshipping the HBO logo that is played before the feature
presentation. It seemed like people were leaving throughout the whole
movie. I would have preferred to have been drinking wine.

I sneezed and before I could finish a girl said, "bless you," and
before she could finish saying, "bless you," I said, "thank you."


06/27/01

I have a group of mint plants that I've brought from Wilmington to New
York and named the expatriates. They were bundled all together for a long
time with the flexible stem of a mint plant tied around them so they grew
in a tangled spoke-cone pattern. Now I've brought them into my office. I
still sometimes think it's very strange to have an office, when right
outside my door there is a thirty to forty year old man that sits in the
hallway. Well, My mint is here and they are doing well enough.

I was taking all the dead leaves off on the subway and I realized that
stems were invading the woman next to me's space so I apologized. She
was already smiling and said it was OK.

I had the most ridiculous dreams about conspiring with a a tiger that
was brought in to kill us.





06/28/01

I'd pretty much prefer hermitage now. I had two pitchers of sangria
and some other drinks with Jason. Attended the TechXNY PC Expo first.
Those people were damn ridiculous. I was inspired to make things actually
work though. Three Brazilian girls took our sangria table when we
left and I tried to impress them with my piss poor Portuguese which
basically allows me to say only, "The man throws the the ball." "The
woman catches the ball," and so on. Except this one slang thing that I
can never pronounce right but they thought it was funny. It's really time
to learn Portuguese.

Excluding a few people that I don't usually see, I don't really feel
too much of an attachment to the people I know. Everything is really
mundane. People are worried about ridiculousness. Do I worry about such
ridiculousness? Even worse are the people that are set on figuring it all
out within some silly frameset that they are compelled to adhere to.
Sitting in a sandbox
and then trying to make an accurate map of the entire world. I need to be
more polite. I also need to disassociate so that I am not plagued by the
common man's problems. My obnoxiousness makes me smile.

As long as I have clean clothes and a small amount of food I should be
happy. I haven't had a cell phone in weeks. I've been broke for more
than a week now. When I'm poor I'm happy. Laundry is very essential
though. New socks and shoes always contribute to a general feeling of
well being and good thinking. Brand new shoes, however, can make one walk
funny and be self conscious.

This is very important. I am a fairly excessive and extreme person. I
like things entirely one way or the other. I don't like doubts. I don't
feel comfortable with a predictable course of events. I generally don't
categorize what I appreciate and what I don't, and I get mistaken for
following silly rulesets. Like most people probably,
I swing through phases where I follow certain patterns and not others.

Ultimately, I need change and uncertainty. I like to have to think
about procuring the important stuff like bread and wine. I don't really
want to have to think about how to get a computer to do this or that or
planning on how to accomplish some task for an alien motive or a very
valuable and honest and virtuous motive obscured by a tangle of other
people's interests whether extended or personal. I most certainly don't
like people to touch me with convoluted posture or without warrant.

Perhaps I'm wrong about my life. Maybe I should settle in, take out
loans, go to school, buy furniture, subscribe to cable, get bigger
bandwidth, and all the other things that people who can actually commit
themselves to doing something tend to do.

Nope. Can't. I don't even know what I'm doing here at work. I'm
waiting for a phone call. Right. But there is a whole earth (and a lot
more) outside of this office.



06/29/01

I haven't smoked a cigarette in something like 38 hours now and I'm
starting to get a little tweaky. I also haven't eaten today. Makes me
feel weak. I can still run up and down 6 flights, no problem and am doing
ten things at once. I feel removed from reality. Very surreal.


07/02/01

Sometimes I scare myself. Crazy evening, ran into a Jude that had been in Newark, DE at Rubelad. Stayed on  his sofa in Little Warsaw. Went to the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island. I've still never had a corn dog. Ate half of a hot dog and felt sick. Battled the hiccups for hours. Went home and slept. At least for a few hours. Then Iaccidentally made arrangements to get together with this very strange girl.

I can't see very clearly. I'm a little sick of New York City right now. I think I should take off work and
go find out why I love it again.  I smoked a half a pack of cigarettes in like 18 hours. Now I haven't smoked for over 24 hours.
Maybe I could live in another city.




07/02/01

This morning I was considering what monastery would take me, or which one I would do well
at.



07/04/01

Weird thing happened. I had a nightmare the other night about really
launching a verbal assault at this kid that I knew like 5 years ago and
didn't even really know him, but I was like standing while he was sitting
and really being nasty.

Then, oddly enough, I ran into him at this stupid bar in Wilmington. I
told him about it and it was sort of weird. No particularly interesting.



07/05/01

Orange Juice not from Concentrate with Ice for Breakfast at Noon.
before: Ribs, Chicken, Hamburger, Swordfish, Crabmeat stuff, white wine,
Orzo, Home Made Ice Cream, Old Ladies Introducing me to Other Old Ladies.
One Suburban upper middle class wife pointing out the insignificant.

God bless indeed.



07/06/01

I've lost my wallet. I must admit this to myself. Although I feel it
is nearby,
I can not find it and must freeze my cards. I must start a new phase of
my life. I must get a new ID. This is not fun. I am not happy about
this. The wallet was
very nice, and I liked it very much. I will have a hard time finding one.
Now, Kenneth Cole isn't the nicest brand, but this was a simple leather
wallet without noticeable logo and it was genuine. I got it for 10 bucks
in Harlem
in this store that was selling clothing that none of it looked right on me
but I had already missed the morning and had to be at work in Chappaqua as
soon as possible. I lived in squalor in a multi-occupancy cold-water
flat even though I was making a thousand or so a week. What's worse, if
someone nice finds it and drops it in the mail, the wallet or ID will go
to the wrong people since it has my old address near Sugar Hill. I should
write a letter asking them to let me know if it shows up. Money talks.

After a few nights I'm beginning to be able to sleep in in
Delaware. I get woken up by insistent dream themes. Not always
antagonistic in the annoying old sense, but just insistent, like I can
wake up and be relieved that whatever subject is taken care of and I can
go to sleep
and then either the same or a slightly modified set will slide back in.



07/07/01

Today would have been fight day with Turp, but the Don King of the
event is somewhere west of Louisiana by now and the match will probably
wait until then.

New Castle, DE isn't my town. This weekend someone reminded us that
there were Fight Clubs in Delaware City and New Castle. It very much
makes sense that would be. I was asleep this morning in some dream,
unimportant, and I woke up by Jefferson grabbing my ankle and yanking me
out of bed. The first thing I saw when I very quickly opened my eyes was
my pillow very rapidly moving away from me. Motion in dream land vs.
motion in real life.

I should have taken an opportunity to surprise my freshest love on the
train from Wilmington to NYC. This love is not requited and it is really
absurdly formed and inconvenient. Wouldn't it have been good if I had
gotten on the same train and been all, "Hey, what are _you_ doing here,"
with a devilish grin. Then I'd have had 2 hours to allow her to convince
herself that she wants to be the apple of my eye and more.

Instead, silliness. Non-interestingness. I feel well rested.



07/07/01

I've decided that I'm going to really dedicate energy and time to
finding a way to work and maybe even study in the UK, Ireland, or Spain.
Not in that order. my preferences are the UK, then Spain, then Ireland.





07/09/01

Why do I have a really comfy job?! I DON'T WANT IT! I want a SHITTY
JOB that I can quit and go be adventurous.
What in God's name am I going to do?



07/10/01

All of this is damn silly. Damn foolish.



07/10/01

I'm very happy

Mamie found my wallet;

she always tryin' to huug me;

next time I'mma let her;

but only just a lit-tle.




07/11/01

Tonight, today, Micheal Olds and Long Night's Journey into Day.



07/11/01

I've got this strange evening ritual of waiting for the Simpsons to come on and then not
watching it. Then I watch the other shows while eating romano cheese by chipping it off of
a block. This last block has been particularly not good and yet I nibble on it trying to
extract the occasional good gustatory experience. After I eat all the salt I am usually
finished my sapporo or whatever and smoke too many cigarettes. When I realize that I
should've gone to bed two hours before I start to set deadlines. Sometimes I make them. I
just get up turn everything off and go lay in bed. That is _exactly_ when I'm inspired to
read, which I sometimes do and end up staying awake until 1 or 1:30. Horrible routine.
Every morning I ask myself why romano tastes good at night, since it's the last thing I want
in the morning. I managed to make it from bed to desk in like 35 minutes this morning, and I
didn't rush.



07/12/01

I miss my Harlem apartment on 147th and 7th.

I had been in NYC for a maybe a month and a half or two. This was
probably October or November of 98. I was staying between Ivans, Galil's,
David's and Yukichi's apt on 2nd and 7th and Samuel's down on Broome and
W. Broadway. I had saved up enough to pay for security and rent with my 5
dollar an hour wage at Action Discount. Earlier, much earlier, I had been
endowed with my P100 laptop that Blackula Jones still needs about $350
for. This allowed me, by calling long distance to Delaware from NYC, to
connect to the internet for free through udel.edu. I searched the Village
Voice online and found a few rooms out in the ghetto, way out in
Brooklyn, and then something Uptown. While looking for a room under $500.00
per month I met some interesting people. One guy told me flat-out that I
may not feel comfortable because I was white. Another older
guy told me that I was a very nice person and things would
work out for me, but that they were looking for an older roommate. That
apartment was nice. Sculptures and weird lighting. I got into a cursing
screaming match with some woman with an Indian accent because she was being
rude about younger people when she was interviewing me over the phone.
I think I shocked her with my
straightforward, "go fuck yourself and your ghetto apartment!" mini-diatribe.
She got all flustered and said, "what?!" and a "you don't talk to me that
way!" to which I'm sure I responded, "that's right, go fuck yourself!" We
went on like that until she hung up. I felt like I didn't get my phone
call's worth. For some reason I think that I was at Evil E's apt. and she
may have overheard this exchange. She may not have been there. It was
unnecessary, and I'm sure I was in a really bad mood.

I found this ad that said "Uptown Renaissance blah blah blah" and ended up
getting the keys right then from my dear landlord Andrew with the sores on
his lip. What a sketchy man. He told me about his adventures in St.
Nicholas park at night with random men buggering each other in the bushes. He
always walked his little annoying dogs in the middle of the night in a
dark and scary park. Rats much larger than squirrels. He was nice, though,
I think, and had loaned
me a few bucks here or there. I paid him back. At one point, I was
supposed to be subletting to Pat Guthrie and Little John but they decided
it wasn't cozy enough and that they couldn't pay me, even though I would
have moved out had I known that this was the case. I ended up owing him
like $660.00 dollars or something for 6 weeks. I paid him. At the time, $660.00
dollars was really a lot of money for me. It's still a lot, but then it was
even more.

So, I moved in. At first, since I didn't own anything, I never wanted to
stay there. I had to share the bathroom with 3 or 4 other people, none of
whom I ever spoke to or knew anything about other than who they got mail
from. We all hid in our rooms. SRO I think it's called. Single Room
Occupancy. There was a semi-nonexistent person named Juan Fernandez who
got tons of summonses and eviction notices all of the time. Something was
really sketchy. I wrote a notarized statement of what I experienced while
living there and gave it to Andrew to use in some eviction case that was
supposed to be a ploy to get this undesireable fellow named Arlan out. I
saved all the letters I could.

I had good times there. There were plaques out in front on the
sidewalk for famous Harlem musicians and leaders. Malcom X, Dizzy
Gillespie, Tito Puente, Ella Fitzgerald. I'm not even certain that they
were all Harlem, but it doesn't matter. City College of New York had
computer labs which I was able to sneak into,
the A was nearby, and my life was getting better.

My job was to stand in
the back of Action Discount and make sure all the products on the shelves
were arranged properly. "Facing" they called it. I also had to prevent
people from stealing things, but I never did that because I would have felt
really dumb to care about that since I was making 5 bucks per hour. Many of
the products had fallen off a truck or something anyway. The bar codes were
scraped off and they were striped with UV paint.

I had to stock water and soda and products on the shelves, etc.

I eventually gave that job to Pat Guthrie. I think he further spoiled
my reputation with them. They were sick bastards anyway. On the day I
was leaving, one of the nicer owners asked me if I wanted to come
downstairs with them while they played some weird sex game I guess with
some girl that he said
was very nice. At first I thought he was joking. After I gave an
obligatory laugh and noticed he was still expecting some answer I was
like, uhhh, no thanks, that's OK, that's very kind of you. I still have
their addresses and phone numbers, which they generally hid but I got from
the Rolodex when I had to sweep the office at closing.

They had their dealer come drop off packages to the clerk at their
store. They thought they were slick or something. I should've taken it.
At this point I was very broke and they were perfectly and deservedly victimisable. They
very much avoided taxes and I figured that at certain times they had 5 G
or more in the un-alarmed safe. How to get the combination? A
small camera placed under the desk with the safe. Where one's knees go,
up there to get the good downward angle. I could've hid the recording
media if it were too large by drilling a small hole for the wire and stashing like
tape drive inside/under this desk. No problem.
When I went down to do the last stock, I could set it up and turn it on.
When the manager went down to put the money in, the combination was recorded.
I would need only an hour tops to grab the numbers. I could then
regularly check to see how much money was in the safe exactly, without
them knowing I knew the combination. With that knowledge, I could have
either grabbed the money and took off or tried to pull it off without even
being there.

You see, they never asked me for my Social Security # or ID when I got
hired. I could have given any name. Knowing this, I could have had a friend
that I trust go there and get my job when I quit.
He or she could have cleaned out the safe and then never showed up again. That
gave me one more degree of separation, although his or her new-ness would make him or her
suspect. I didn't think that they were going to call the police, though,
since they were such an illegal shop. The only way to guarantee him or
her getting a job though would be for me to recommend him or her. This would
associate me with him or her.

In the end I just tapped out the hinge of the gumball machine coin box every
night and, in almost plain view, I supplemented my pitiful hourly wage with
the bounty of quarters that suspiciously didn't match up I'm sure with the
gumball man's accounting. I was very sneaky, I must confess. It
takes a creative person to disguise the sound of quarters sliding
across hollow plastic by the handful and then being carefully transferred
to a pocket without making a very conspicuous noise. Usually, I struck
when they were counting money and blocking out everything else. This provided
me evening beer and perhaps cigarette money. Galil contributed greatly when we got together and, like
many of my friends, I probably owe him a few cartons of cigarettes.

I worked from 4PM to Midnight. I woke up around noon. I didn't have a TV for a long time.
Evil E floated around in parts of this time period. After a few months working there I was really sick of it.
I
started faxing out resumes (they were really, really, really bad resumes) to the numerous postings I would see
on
the internet. Rarely, if ever, got a reply and I don't blame them. Through David, Renato's brother, I ended
up
getting a job in Norwalk, CT.

I then worked there for a while, got sick of 10 hour days, and Loot, after some consideration and I suppose
regretfully declined proposals to other friends to hatch a business with him, worked some funny magic and I
ended
up at Reader's Digest. We started a company and contracted here and there. They were good times. They were
tough
times. I was making about 1000 a week or so after taxes, and still living in my room on 135th.

Andrea, an old proxifriend, had her lease end and was now ready to move somewhere else. I happened to be a
decent candidate for a roomamte I suppose. She found a place. I signed and we moved
there.

It was at 147th and 7th. The bottom of Sugar Hill I think. Maybe I'm dead wrong. It was pretty ghetto.
It
was beautiful. I had a much larger room and I was the more psycho roommate, so I'm sure my experience there
was
different than Andrea's. A large and great piece of dining room furniture was left in the apartment. I
moved it into my room. Boxer John has it now, and does not appreciate it. The sun was really great in there.
I
would drag and find random things to put in it. Sometimes very heavy things. I found a large white carpet
with a
small stain. It was perfect at first and then it got dirty. We didn't have a vaccuum cleaner. It became
populated with stuff slowly, never entirely. I live like a boy, a little boy. I am very messy. I scatter my
clothes all around my room. As much as a freshly cleaned and organized room feels good, so does having a layer
of
clothing which covers every inch of floor space. I never want people to come into my room though, because they
step
all over my gear, which is usually clothing, and sometimes clean. Other things including palm pilots, cell
phones,
records, computers, etc. could also be beneath, so the unadept traverser of my room can cause a lot of damage
and heartache for me.

Andrea worked as a census taker, and was privy to a very intimate view of our neighborhood. I would get
calls
early in the morning from a client that I had to go to every day. I would watch hours and hours of the
Simpsons on
tape and smoke parliaments. I drank a lot of beer. I drank a decent amount of wine. I ate Andrea's food
sometimes. Sometimes I didn't and it went bad. Sometimes I didn't and she enjoyed it later. The next time
that I
go to Andrea's house I should do her dishes, because I'm sure I owe her a few.

At some point I must've run into Double A and we had a short lived amorous episode. Evil E resurfaced and
that
distracted me. My bed was uncomfortable. It was hot sometimes. I would play records and fight the tarantella
on
occasion. Andrea was probably driven crazy. There were insects. Not at first, but then slowly they increased
and
ultimately I was afraid to turn the kitchen light off. Not "afraid" but preferred not to deal with my sneaky
little friends. We never held a proper party but people came over and celebrated the smaller things like
boredom.
Micheal lived there for a while. Andrea has a green TV. I watched a quite a bit. The Matrix was played
sometimes two or three runs in a day. I didn't watch the whole thing each time, I would be on my laptop or
doing
something else, but I used the TV to keep or lose track of time. I don't know which.

I bought nicer clothing, ate well, communed with God and other voices in my head. My shower had an
incredible
view of 147th and further North. I tried to address big problems. Hunts for the Universe's Grand
Dis-Unified Tear in the Ether were engaged in.. partially inspired by watching The Matrix too many times. I
say
only
partially because when I can remember that life is really bizarre and that it doesn't make sense I still find
myself trying poke a hole in reality with my finger or whatever device I think may work. My desperate need for
glasses adds to this. Life was good. I took the bus to work, even when I was late. The bus takes at least
twice
as long. Life isn't bad now. It seems more mundane.

At about the same time my love was mummified and sealed I left my partnership with Loot and the company.
Andrea
decided to move in with Matt and I thought that I had broken free. Now I'm back in Queens making agreements
with
people to do this or that and pay this or that and show up for work and be too shy to talk to the girls that
know
they look good. Remember that this is a very strange place, this earth, and nothing reinforces that like
experiencing unfamiliarity. I left and didn't even move the furniture that I bought.
We were breaking the
lease anyway. I wrote this overly explanatory letter to the landlord and he called me back with a very clear,
"Ok,
well give me the apartment back." We did.


07/13/01

The Papers

US citizens need work permits to work in the United Kingdom. The prospective employer makes the application
for
a work permit, which means if you change employers, your work permit is no longer valid. The good news,
however, is
that US citizens don't need visas to study in the United Kingdom, and students can work up to 20 hours per
week.

Vintage

06/02/01

When I woke up I was a little thirsty. I found my way to the internet, ordered one water, one coca cola with more ice than coca cola, and one coffee with milk. Then it was time to go to the beach. Nova Mar Bella. Some of the most beautiful 18 year old girls (they were 18, I say so.) I´ve ever seen were comfortably doing nothing in the sun with nearly nothing on. I averted my Anglo-puritan eyes, who wants to seem overly interested, and decided it was time to see what was going on in the Mediterranean. Discreetly, I buried my coin purse (that was once Erik´s) and busted down to my suit and black socks pulled up to my knees.

I cautiously approached, then walked in without pause. It was cold and the sun was not warm enough. After I got my breath back, my eyes floated back to the beach, which of course the girls were still all breasted out on. Figuring I better start training for my fight, I swam out. It got deep quickly. I started laughing, and it was the type of laugh that happens when you´re really cold and your torso is tight and the laughs come out sort of compressed.

I could see the bottom and I noticed some round disk-like thing and it made me nervous. That´s the thing about the ocean, there are other creatures in there that have all types of venom, teeth, tentacles, barbs, razor sharp tails, and laser beams. Most of them probably have 300 times the maneuverability that you do, not to mention they can see or smell or taste you better than you can. Well, maybe we can taste better, I don´t know. Anyway, I gave myself the struck by lightning talk and continued swimming.

Floating next to me on the surface were two butterfly wings. They were of different types of butterfly and no longer attached to the butterflies they belonged to. They were the same size. They were sort of stuck together end to end by water tension. As I was looking at the wings, water washed over my head. It was a terrible misfortune that I had been taking a breath and not more than a deciliter of the sea was sucked into my windpipe, which caused a coughing-gagging reflex that was immediately followed by a gasp for air. Of course, my head was submerged and this effort for air resulted in me violently drawing water directly into my lungs. This was all happening within a few seconds, so I was confused more than afraid.

I´ve spent a good part of my life preparing for death. Wondering about it, the details, the threshold, reconciling myself with god (there are no atheists in the foxholes, they say), wearing clean underwear, trying to understand why my grandmother told me to always wear clean underwear in case something happened when one would likely be soiling one´s self in clean underwear, leaving funny little postmortem messages in my wallet. Deciding whether those messages should make light of the situation of my death for whoever receives them in a tactful enough way that they would smile even though they were sad, or if they should be strange messages like, "I´m not dead, meet me at the monkeys in the Toronto Zoo on Dia de los Muertes." Actually, my example of the strange type of message might be a make-light-of.

I´ve thought about where my things would eventually end up. I´ve thought about graphical representations of the frequency of people who knew me´s allocated brain time spent remembering me on a timeline of say 100 years. I´ve thought of the idea that the sun will eventually expire and long before that our Earfth will no longer be inhabitable. At the rate things are going, it seems we´ll be able to adapt or create some artificial environment for our replication. Then again, it seems if not as likely more likely that some over-curious monkey will press the big red button that de-populates us. I should write a memo to the future and etch it into a gold plate with a picture of a cockroach and a monkey man and leave it at the bottom of the sea.

Anyway, back to the bottom of the sea..

I couldn´t breathe because my lungs had water inside them and were spasmodically trying to dispel it while simultaneously desperately drawing for air. I was under water, so instead of air I drew more water in. This didn´t go on for very long, and although I can hold my breath for three minutes when prepared my blood wasn´t getting the oxygen for my brain. For only a few seconds things got strange. It sort of felt like I had stared at the sun and then run into a dark room. It wasn´t dark, in fact it was bright white-blue like after someone takes a picture and you stared into the flash. Speaking of flashes, I love footage of atomic explosions so I perfectly understand our latent compulsion to press the big, red, nuclear variety button of de-populating us.

I was drowning. At this point I lost Consciousness proper. My diaphragm threw in the towel and although my tracheal muscles remained contracted and the remaining air in my lungs didn´t escape I sort of floated down with a little less bouyancy than would be needed to float statically. I was now dying. It didn´t take long, either, although that very statement became a bit out of context. Time was stretching out and becoming irrelevant. The best way to make Christmas morning come quickly is to get a spoonful of novahistimine from your grandmother and fall asleep. At least that´s what they say. Completing my death, right, so now I was in a state sort of like when you have just fallen asleep but you know it and it feels good. That was it. It was comfortable. Not cold, not scary, not visions of my life flashing before my eyes, none of that deep voice telling me to go towards the light. Maybe I died too quickly or maybe drowning is a different kind of death. It was basically like having the most comfortable sleep I´ve ever had.

After I sank to the bottom, a current must have washed me out further. I came to awareness when my soul peeled away from my body much like a cicada molts, leaving a very perfect replica of it´s form behind. Unlike a cicada though I didn´t have to split my back or anything. I came out inverted through my mouth and then my soul swallowed itself to turn itself right side out or whatever. I can´t tell you what I looked like. I don´t even know really. Souls don´t have the conventional ability to see oneself that we do. One´s soul can´t look in a mirror. Maybe they can describe each other to each other. Enough speculating on souls for now.

Now I didn´t know what to do. I didn´t even know where I was, but I assumed somewhere in the Mediterranean near Barcelona. Off in the distance I saw a sort of flashing. I headed over and was able to travel very quickly for the medium of travel being water. I got near and noticed a pretty big guy hunched over a pretty old TV from the 70s or something. He was playing Zelda. He had a sofa, but had taken all of the cushions off and constructed a sort of cockpit on the sea floor. I presume that this was so that he could see and focus on his Zelda better.

When I walked up he quickly switched it off and Gilligan´s Island was on. He acted really comfortable like he hadn´t just done anything. I noticed his trident and figured he was Poseidon. He acknowledged me and then stopped behaving "naturally". I didn´t know him and he didn´t know me, but we were cool with each other. He may have known otherwise, but it didn´t seem like anyone else was around. I asked him why he turned off Zelda really quickly and didn´t save his game. He said that he thought I was Jesus coming over and explained that he had borrowed Zelda from Jesus and Jesus forgot about it and he didn´t want Jesus to see it and ask him to return it. I understood.

We got on with the introductions, and I think he forgot my name for a while. I asked him what was going on in the undersea afterlife and he didn´t know what to say really, since he wasn´t concerned with newly dead identity searching. He told me that the sea was pretty great. I asked him what was up with the girls that were so painfully beautiful and naked on the beach. He laughed and said, "What.. oh, that´s just how they do here." I speculated on what the proper tact is in trying to talk to one of those naked beautiful girls and he cut me short. He said unless you already know them you´re probably going to be creepy. I told him that I didn´t even speak Spanish really and he quickly replied, "maybe you should´ve studied Spanish when you were alive."

At this point he was disinterested. Jesus called him up and he ignored me for a while while they talked about their new Linux distro, "Divinix". I interrupted and asked him if I could be resurrected. He said I have to speak with my deilogical representative. I asked him who that was and he thought I was a jackass. He said, "What were you raised as?" I answered "Christian." He went back to the phone and said to Jesus, "I gotta guy over here wants to be not dead." Jesus replied to Poseidon over the phone and then Poseidon said, "Jesus sez no problemo, but keep your eyes off of those breasts." I told him to thank Jesus for me. He said that Jesus would change my settings after he was done recompiling the new kernel.

I watched the rest of Gilligan´s island and then was seamlessly transmetaphysically placed back in the water on the surface in my body. I was glad to be back, although I feel like I didn´t see enough of Death. I´m sure I´ll be back. I went back to shore, dried off, and came back into town for a drink and to buy white clothing. Tonight corrido de toros.