crafty guitarists
Yesterday, I woke up at my usual 5:00 AM, & did another draft of "Acid Contains Light" -- which, even though it presents the culpability of Bozo in destroying my mind -- "he was always bitching to VADIS about his nervous breakdown & now, we've really given him something to worry about" -- was not presented in that draft, though it did include the Alfalfa High party & letters I'd written.
I sat around listening to Trish's George Michaels CDs (bleh!), but marriage is all about compromise -- while she did chores; loaded the dishwasher while she was preoccupied. We went out to Feed My Sheep (& the Lamb lies down in Invisible City), then to Fat Albertson's to pick up 20 buckadingdongs worth of groceries for the weekend.
I called Friendly Fred after lunch, & got invited to Dan Dolph's place to mess around with his keyboard while Dan & Fred played guitar. Dan has an electric guitar; one of these days, I'm buying a guitar amp for my keyboard -- if I ever find time to practice the thing; with the Dec. 7-14 reading period for QA, I want to have the novel done before then, though I have found an agent to send the outline/sample chapter & a photocopy of Richard Henshaw's criticism -- "thoroughly gonzo stuff; not right for us".
When I came home I cooked Trish's favorite meatloaf -- Mexican -- then we watched digital cable until we were ready to shoot the Orgasm Death (without the Death part). Fearless Taco called at precisely the wrong moment, but at least he calls.
I slept until 7:00 this morning, on 3 Restorel. There was an article, mostly statistics, in www.sciencenews.org this morning about sleeping pills. I learned that the new stuff mimics the benzodiazapines, but I'm not on any of this stuff: I'm on temazapam, which bears with it the possibility of dependence & tolerance -- yet Doc Larocque said I'm better off sleeping than worrying about this stuff.
I do not know what lies in store for me this morning. It could be beyond love & death. It could be beyond fear & loathing. It could even be beyond God & Sisyphus: the only thing beyond God is Sisyphus.
I sat around listening to Trish's George Michaels CDs (bleh!), but marriage is all about compromise -- while she did chores; loaded the dishwasher while she was preoccupied. We went out to Feed My Sheep (& the Lamb lies down in Invisible City), then to Fat Albertson's to pick up 20 buckadingdongs worth of groceries for the weekend.
I called Friendly Fred after lunch, & got invited to Dan Dolph's place to mess around with his keyboard while Dan & Fred played guitar. Dan has an electric guitar; one of these days, I'm buying a guitar amp for my keyboard -- if I ever find time to practice the thing; with the Dec. 7-14 reading period for QA, I want to have the novel done before then, though I have found an agent to send the outline/sample chapter & a photocopy of Richard Henshaw's criticism -- "thoroughly gonzo stuff; not right for us".
When I came home I cooked Trish's favorite meatloaf -- Mexican -- then we watched digital cable until we were ready to shoot the Orgasm Death (without the Death part). Fearless Taco called at precisely the wrong moment, but at least he calls.
I slept until 7:00 this morning, on 3 Restorel. There was an article, mostly statistics, in www.sciencenews.org this morning about sleeping pills. I learned that the new stuff mimics the benzodiazapines, but I'm not on any of this stuff: I'm on temazapam, which bears with it the possibility of dependence & tolerance -- yet Doc Larocque said I'm better off sleeping than worrying about this stuff.
I do not know what lies in store for me this morning. It could be beyond love & death. It could be beyond fear & loathing. It could even be beyond God & Sisyphus: the only thing beyond God is Sisyphus.
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