Dazzled
Dazzled
Down John Olive Way with the sun in my face, almost run over by boy on bike Nice 18 year old boy on bike. I stood dead still like a jacklit deer (doe). He pedaled up the hill calling "sah-ry," Oh,
you & me both, sonny.
This after walking up & down Broadway & buying—nothing. Not a haircut or a pair of sandals or even ice cream.
However, I'm going back for ice cream.
I want a hike but I may settle for a walk over to the U. District. And new underpants. But, as far as a goal in life, is this quite It? No, but I have Dave minutes away from death.
I'm almost ready for a swim.
Now, can I go to California? Try to slip into Grass Valley where the black-outs roll. (With my luck, I'd run straight into Roger—about whom I dreamed the other night, BTW. Old goat. OK, OK, I'm the one who dreamed it. Nothing consummated, nothing gained.)
They keep playing Frank Sinatra. People liked him. Imagine. L(eaves)M(e)C(old).
Tomorrow—more literature, more joy. More of the same. More of better, please.
Oh, like now—Clyde McPhatter. Worth half a swoon.
BM Starbucks 5/29/01
Notice Things
The on-line quiz bundles items together so that all the answers are wrong. Yes, I feel dull-witted, but my perceptions are just fine, thanks.
Like Green Fingernails
Then Kay comes in & tells me that her cat has cancer of the tongue & a kidney stone plus being HIV+. So even though she can be an annoying, over-serious schlump, I feel for her.
The quiz with all wrong answers was an on-line menopause quiz that proved you needed hormones no matter what you said.
But, though I feel dull-witted (compared to my previous sharp-witted self) & often can't think of a word (with all the words in there, no wonder), still I'm as perceptive as god. So I see that guy with green nail polish (he doesn't look too crazy, but crazy, yes. Kathy can tell) saying "wuz happening" to the little blonde homeless woman. I've got a half-notion to pay her a buck to hear what life on the street is like, a dollar's worth.
But she wouldn't tell me.
I suspect she & her vulpine-faced husband are methamphetamine addicts.
And I also notice the ugly tattoos & big plug-holes in earlobes & ugly clown boots (black suede platform boots) worn seriously by women who don't look stupid. Facial expressions I mean.
Then with the May-June sunlight filling my apartment like eau de vie, all scintillae & significant shadows, I keep thinking, why don't I draw? It's all so beautiful.
Broadway *bucks 5/31/01
Got 2 got 2 got 2
Got 2 get away. Here on a Saturday in the rain. The silver-white rain of June and everybody ducks for the doorways. Save those who don't, who pay no attention. I have come to the Broadway cafe where I sat last Wednesday & was so hot that I took off my workshirt & threw away my keys.
And now I can think of nothing better to do than...talk to visitors? I refrain from picking up the conversational baton (or hankie) from the Jimmy Baldwin look-alike. His hotel is downtown. I don't say, "Oh, are you a visitor?" (He was talking to Mattias in deutsch. Cruising?) In the rain everyone looks sullen & furtive, & yet much better than they do in hot weather, with all the ugly flab and tattooed skin showing. Oh the fatties—where do they spend their weekdays? Oh, the fatties in purple & gold windbreakers. What is it about fans?
I'm always shocked (& saddened) by the scientific types who claim fanhood, esp. of baseball. But that's guys—they are often AAB (all-Am-boys) until they escape the herding effects. With girls, it is different. (Isn't it?)
Bway *Bux 6/2/01
Nature Writing
At the tiny Broadway Starbucks on Sunday. Family group: two terminally unhip middle-agers (probably my age but I don't feel as old as they look, or look that bad. Do I??). Then the dysfunctional guy waiting for his refill, singing:
"If you see me walking down the street
And each time we meet/ I start to cry..."
(i.e., wrong)
I do not ask him if he knows he sounds Just Like Dionne Warwick, because I don't want to start something I won't want to finish.
Then the police walk in & Mr. Dysfunction walks out. The police are just here for coffee; they probably have an ancestral memory from when this was a Winchell's do-nuts. Besides them—all the random variable heuristic-stochastic Broadway crowd: Asian mom with 2 kids & the little girl's hair looks like mine ought to but never will, no matter how much I spend on clippers. Then a couple with all their cartilage pierced & cool-as-me in big RayBans. Then a shaven-pate and his alter ego. More Asians. People of indefinable lineage (it's always smart to have thick hair &—unless you live up where the sun don't never shine—just enough melanin).
Variable June day. The sun stands over silverward & all the leaves fresh & sinuous & rustling in the breeze.
I dreamed I won a thousand dollars on a scratch ticket. I got up lonely (?) & bored & suicidal. After breakfast & leftover papers (but feeling fat because I hadn't gone out for a paper), I wrote a page or 2 on Meta which would have left me pleased, if I hadn't taken a peek at the beginning of Dave, and found it inert & smelling. Maybe, before I try to liven it up, I'll rewrite Part I.
Otherwise...out into the bright evening. (I could always get the gun & go—that would improve the prospect of the season, at least for a while.)
B'way *Bux 6/3/01
Down John Olive Way with the sun in my face, almost run over by boy on bike Nice 18 year old boy on bike. I stood dead still like a jacklit deer (doe). He pedaled up the hill calling "sah-ry," Oh,
you & me both, sonny.
This after walking up & down Broadway & buying—nothing. Not a haircut or a pair of sandals or even ice cream.
However, I'm going back for ice cream.
I want a hike but I may settle for a walk over to the U. District. And new underpants. But, as far as a goal in life, is this quite It? No, but I have Dave minutes away from death.
I'm almost ready for a swim.
Now, can I go to California? Try to slip into Grass Valley where the black-outs roll. (With my luck, I'd run straight into Roger—about whom I dreamed the other night, BTW. Old goat. OK, OK, I'm the one who dreamed it. Nothing consummated, nothing gained.)
They keep playing Frank Sinatra. People liked him. Imagine. L(eaves)M(e)C(old).
Tomorrow—more literature, more joy. More of the same. More of better, please.
Oh, like now—Clyde McPhatter. Worth half a swoon.
BM Starbucks 5/29/01
Notice Things
The on-line quiz bundles items together so that all the answers are wrong. Yes, I feel dull-witted, but my perceptions are just fine, thanks.
Like Green Fingernails
Then Kay comes in & tells me that her cat has cancer of the tongue & a kidney stone plus being HIV+. So even though she can be an annoying, over-serious schlump, I feel for her.
The quiz with all wrong answers was an on-line menopause quiz that proved you needed hormones no matter what you said.
But, though I feel dull-witted (compared to my previous sharp-witted self) & often can't think of a word (with all the words in there, no wonder), still I'm as perceptive as god. So I see that guy with green nail polish (he doesn't look too crazy, but crazy, yes. Kathy can tell) saying "wuz happening" to the little blonde homeless woman. I've got a half-notion to pay her a buck to hear what life on the street is like, a dollar's worth.
But she wouldn't tell me.
I suspect she & her vulpine-faced husband are methamphetamine addicts.
And I also notice the ugly tattoos & big plug-holes in earlobes & ugly clown boots (black suede platform boots) worn seriously by women who don't look stupid. Facial expressions I mean.
Then with the May-June sunlight filling my apartment like eau de vie, all scintillae & significant shadows, I keep thinking, why don't I draw? It's all so beautiful.
Broadway *bucks 5/31/01
Got 2 got 2 got 2
Got 2 get away. Here on a Saturday in the rain. The silver-white rain of June and everybody ducks for the doorways. Save those who don't, who pay no attention. I have come to the Broadway cafe where I sat last Wednesday & was so hot that I took off my workshirt & threw away my keys.
And now I can think of nothing better to do than...talk to visitors? I refrain from picking up the conversational baton (or hankie) from the Jimmy Baldwin look-alike. His hotel is downtown. I don't say, "Oh, are you a visitor?" (He was talking to Mattias in deutsch. Cruising?) In the rain everyone looks sullen & furtive, & yet much better than they do in hot weather, with all the ugly flab and tattooed skin showing. Oh the fatties—where do they spend their weekdays? Oh, the fatties in purple & gold windbreakers. What is it about fans?
I'm always shocked (& saddened) by the scientific types who claim fanhood, esp. of baseball. But that's guys—they are often AAB (all-Am-boys) until they escape the herding effects. With girls, it is different. (Isn't it?)
Bway *Bux 6/2/01
Nature Writing
At the tiny Broadway Starbucks on Sunday. Family group: two terminally unhip middle-agers (probably my age but I don't feel as old as they look, or look that bad. Do I??). Then the dysfunctional guy waiting for his refill, singing:
"If you see me walking down the street
And each time we meet/ I start to cry..."
(i.e., wrong)
I do not ask him if he knows he sounds Just Like Dionne Warwick, because I don't want to start something I won't want to finish.
Then the police walk in & Mr. Dysfunction walks out. The police are just here for coffee; they probably have an ancestral memory from when this was a Winchell's do-nuts. Besides them—all the random variable heuristic-stochastic Broadway crowd: Asian mom with 2 kids & the little girl's hair looks like mine ought to but never will, no matter how much I spend on clippers. Then a couple with all their cartilage pierced & cool-as-me in big RayBans. Then a shaven-pate and his alter ego. More Asians. People of indefinable lineage (it's always smart to have thick hair &—unless you live up where the sun don't never shine—just enough melanin).
Variable June day. The sun stands over silverward & all the leaves fresh & sinuous & rustling in the breeze.
I dreamed I won a thousand dollars on a scratch ticket. I got up lonely (?) & bored & suicidal. After breakfast & leftover papers (but feeling fat because I hadn't gone out for a paper), I wrote a page or 2 on Meta which would have left me pleased, if I hadn't taken a peek at the beginning of Dave, and found it inert & smelling. Maybe, before I try to liven it up, I'll rewrite Part I.
Otherwise...out into the bright evening. (I could always get the gun & go—that would improve the prospect of the season, at least for a while.)
B'way *Bux 6/3/01
posted by K. E. Ellingson at 4:01 PM
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