Can hear a ferry in the harbor. Three longs blasts. Man overboard. Likely a tourist fell taking a picture. Get one of me, I’m king of the world! Splash. What time is it? Quarter to.
Molly met him a couple of weeks ago. That Fantasia party. Explain. The ostriches dance in the morning, then hippos in the day, elephants in the evening, and aligators at night. With some overlap. Strange film. Hyacinth Hippo dancing the hours with Ben Ali Gator. Girls like the bad boy. Story a bit different in the original. La Gioconda loves Enzo so much she gives him to Laura who loved him first. Prior claim. Still, La Giaconda has our sympathy in the bloody end. Molly is convinced he has money from the smell of it on his breath. She squinted into the mirror in shadow, showing the lines in her eyes. Maybe it won’t pan out. With him or with me. Get out of the way.
I don’t enjoy getting dressed with Molly. I timed her this morning: 9:15 did Roberts pay you yet. Five minutes. 9:20 what was Greta Conroy wearing. Three minutes. 9:23 what was I thinking when I bought this comb. One minute. 9:24 cabbage makes me gassy. Fifteen minutes. Made me nick myself shaving.
Thinking about writing a story, maybe with Molly. Read one about a laughing witch. Matchem’s something by Beaufoy. Could write something and put it on Amazon, see if it sells. Invent a story for some proverb, but which one? Infinite supply. What was that Molly used to say getting dressed? Used to write that stuff down. Well, I’ll think of one, touch fingers. Better start now, procrastination is the thief of time. A rolling stone gathers no moss. Time and tide wait for no one and while we are postponing, life speeds by. What many be done at any time will be done at no time, as they say, and wasting time is robbing oneself. Oh I thought of one. What was that. It’s gone. Like holding water in my hands. Wish I could get that thought back. Oh well, an ounce of gold will not buy an inch of time. Every moment is golden, you know, and those who neglect time, time will neglect. Better make the most of the time I have left because you don’t need a watch to know when it is time to die.
Cat wants out. Miaow! She didn’t like hearing that. Molly calling the cat, she wanted upstairs not out. I’m feeling a heaviness, a loosening. Want to finish thought, will bring laptop with me.
Ok. Look out window at nextdoor windows. Nobody. No big hurry. Keep it in. Restrain myself. Ah well, last resistance yielding. Allowing bowels to ease themselves quietly. That slight constipation from yesterday gone. Hope this isn’t too big to bring on hemorrhoids again. No. Just right. So. Powdered cascara bark, nice Northwest plant. Doesn’t take much.
Need to reclaim the back garden. Full of ivy. Moss in the grass. Blackberries taking over. Impossible to get rid of. Ivy too. Rent a goat maybe. Want to manure the whole place over. Compost. Chicken shit especially, very good for soil. Good for lots of things, not just gardens. Met that chicken shit farmer up in Vancouver. Wore a black leather jacket with a white drip of his product stuck to his back left shoulder. Bought a round for everybody, a happy guy. Should be happy, he farms white gold. Maybe find some cattle dung. Grow some peas. Lettuce, always have fresh greens then. Don’t want bees, though, don’t need to be stung again.
She met some kid. Milly did. Prevent. Can’t prevent. She’ll have her firsts. Kiss. etc. Better keep her occupied. She wanted a dog, something to carry in a purse. Maybe I’ll just take a trip up there. Work out a press pass with McCoy, get it paid for.
Prevent some of it. Molly reading, braiding her hair. Texting. Friend of the family. That will happen too.
I feel a creeping regret, up the back of my spine, back of my neck. Spreading.
Milly Bloom Milly Bloom. I’ve read her email a couple of times. She met some kid. Ok, she knows how to take care of herself, but what if she doesn’t? Nothing has happened. Sheesh she’s a wild child. It’s her destiny, it would seem. She is vain. Very. Doing ok in that photography job, makes $1080. Not bad. Could be worse. Had that fight with her about the bracelet. Wouldn’t eat, speak, look at me. Smart ass little shit. Milly Bloom Milly Bloom. Remember that time we rode the duck. Rough day, was a wild ride, but she wasn’t scared at all. Her hair and that blue scarf flying in the wind. Oh Milly Bloom you are my darling.
Milly is fifteen but I remember like yesterday calling the midwife when she was born. She was the same one. She knew instantly Rudy wouldn’t live. God is good she said and she knew better. He lived eleven days. He’d be eleven now. If I could overreach, into this now or out of this now. Oh it is a difference of all enormity. I was so proud. I’d give my every eyeblink. She knew at once. She knew. From the first.
An email from Milly:
TYVM 4 teh lvl b-day pres. Its hella bomb nd super perty. :^) Evry1 sys im all th@. I got moms bx of creams nd m writn. Their kewl. ^_^ Doin gr8 in pic job. Coghlan tk 1 of me w/ his OL. wil 4wrd. did gr8 biz yda. Wuz nc & all teh bfls wer out. Mndy were goin 2 hang @ Lake Padden, nmjc. aml 2 mom & lyl 2 u & *K* :-# & tx! Im catchn ppl ltm. Thr wil b a show n teh Greville Arms Satdy. Thrs a yg Im crushin on named Bannon his fam $_$ he cn wail to Boylin’s (omg I wuz gonna tipe Blazes Boylin’s) song bout teh seaside gurlz. Tell him lol Milly sez hag1. TTFN.
4eva ur dd,
btw sry 4 typos, g2g b4n
Nearly burned my kidney this morning. Molly smelled the smoke and I ran so fast to save it I stubbed my toes on the way down. They say people, or at least mice at any rate, get cancer from eating burned meat so I gave the charred bits to the cat. She got a little more than she expected.
Have been looking at The Bath of the Nymph print we got from a magazine last Easter, can’t remember which one. DDI? I paid about $190 to frame it in oak. Looks like Molly. Slimmer. Easter, now that’s a concept. Resurrection is nothing like metempsychosis where you don’t know where your soul will end up, no. A tree, a cat. No. Get resurrected and the body you died in comes back too. And not like Lazarus either, all fucked up and reeking of grave rot. Come out Lazarus, but woof, you stink! Go back in Lazarus. No. I want him back, but the way he’d be if not. If he hadn’t. You know. Rudy eleven years ago today. My boy my boy.
Ants, Bramavaivarta Purana, Dedalus, Frank Gehry, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Indra, James Joyce, Mathematical Esoterica, Metempsychosis, Molly, One Hundred Years of Sollitude, Temporality, Ulysses, Vishvakarma
After thousands of years of people reincarnating, with all the coming and going and waiting in chairs and general foot traffic, heaven’s lobby had become a crumbling old ruin. Indra asked Vishvakarma, who was an archetect along the lines of Dedalus and Frank Gehry, to fix up the place a bit and so he did. It was splendid. Dripping with jewels. Gardens. Towers. There were walls that could sing and there were stairs that rotated to the past. In some rooms you could smell the light just by virtue of the placement of the windows in ratios corresponding to the sacred formula (√5+1)/2. In one room he had squared the circle and in another he had trisected an angle and doubled a cube. I don’t even have to tell you what he did with time. Anyway, it was a ton of work and when he was done he was done and wanted to leave. Get paid and leave. Problem was, Indra wanted more. Wasn’t satisfied with good enough. More building if you please and even if you don’t please. So Vishvakarma had no choice, really. He went over his head to the supreme being. Well, this god in charge, this divine fixer, told Vishvakarma not to worry, be cool, just go back and I’ll take care of everything. The next day a kid all in white with a tattoo on his forehead (what parent is going to let that happen? must have been fake) showed up and marched right up to Indra as if Indra wasn’t The Man. And this kid said look, when are you going to be done with all this construction? No other Indra before you has ever built, well paid to be built for him at any rate, anything half as big or a third as great. And Indra, amused that this kid had what appeared to be the balls of a water buffalo to talk smack to his face just like that, said what the hell do you know about other Indras? And the kid said look dude, I’ve seen it all. I was there when they built the pyramids and that was like yesterday. I’ve seen the bang at the start of the universe and the one before that too. I’ve seen all the universes and all possible moments and the containers of moments and the things those are packed into besides and each one has an Indra, so don’t give me your shit. And while the kid was talking and Indra was turning purple with rage a line of ants marched in like they owned the place, which in fact they did. The kid cracked up to see this and laughed until Indra was nearly apoplectic with fury. Finally the kid took pity and revealed his true form. He was the fixer, the man in charge of the man in charge of the man in charge fifty five times over the whole time. Indra fell all over himself apologizing and in his curiosity which he could not contain even in front of the Supreme One, he asked what was it about the ants that was so funny? And the supreme being said those ants? Every one of them are former Indras.
I remember that trapeze artist who fell at Teatro Zinzanni. I had to look away, difficult to do in that place. Everybody stopped. Everything stopped. Time stopped as they say, although in that case it would have to have started and all my evidence says something else. One of the preformers was wandering around the tables offering people tastes of ice soup for a laugh and when it happened she was staring directly into my eyes bent over the table lifting my spoon toward me. Dark liner. Glitter lids. Only the music kept going, a jazzy soundtrack to horrible pain. She never looked away. We locked. I still see those eyes. And I heard what she didn’t say. I looked away. I had to look away. The staff played it cool, professionals, and had people laughing and eating again fast. Tough job that. Break your neck so we break our sides. Breaks my heart. Start them off young I imagine so they metempsychosis. The soul of a trapeze artist in the body of a what? Our souls after we die. After before, no difference. When is Dignam’s soul?