September 15th, 2009

[newcorinthian]

Oh, let's see. I've just returned from a jog to the supermarket. Sure is different around here these days. Gus is in the other room asleep. I'm sleeping on the couch in another room, this room. I'm exhausted. Not a week has passed since my last day of work. Then I rushed away from town Friday morning. The good-looking kid who knows nothing but is very good at tennis and is a congenial chap, he gave me a ride into Walla Walla. In Walla Walla I met a felon. I was the first person outside of prison that this fellow had talked to; I got to serve that purpose; and that was a blessing. We rode together on the bus to Spokane. He gave me a pat on the shoulder when we said good-bye. For much of the weekend I have been watching football. Gus and I play football in a fantasy league, and generally we laugh often. Gus's house is filthy! Today I bought nine records and got seven for free. I looked at running shorts in the sporting goods store. The store didn't sell any Oregon State hats. "What color are they?" asked the woman. "You don't know the Beavers?," I said. "I'm sorry," she said. Then I went to the bar and these Reunite yuppies talked about college football for an hour and twenty minutes. Nothing but college ball. I thought, how miserable these people must be. I thought, I bet they go to wine tastings for fun. They go to wine tastings for fun and meet others who go to wine tastings for fun. The husband probably does coke in the basement of his house and watches NasCar on Sundays. Anyhow, when I was on the phone later a young fellow, maybe sixteen, appeared on his skateboard. He was dressed well. Short hiar, ball cap, fitted dark jeans. I watched him. He and I looked at each other in the eyes at first and held the connection for a little while. Then it was like he was putting on a show, because he knew that I was watching him. He skated further away into the background, toward the horizon where a golden light shimmered. The boy rode into the foreground, closer to me, but not next to me. He stopped. He posed. Very simply, the boy set his hand on his hip and tilted his head in a way toward the southeastern sky, which was now blue with night. Some other boys arrived. The well-dressed boy rode around again. Then, when all the boys were on the sidewalk riding back and forth into the golden light, the well-dressed boy rode back into the foreground, and he came very close to me. "Let's go," he barked. All the boys skated down the sidewalk toward the souteastern sky. When I came home I smoked pot and then went for a run. For one moment I felt the true zen of running. So easy to get startled sometimes. Not startled like you're afraid, but startled away from a daydream, or that moment just before falling to sleep, or maybe the way you get startled from a sneeze. I was running in "the zone." Anyhow, nothing deeply intellectual, philosophical, or poetic here in this recollection; but it's been so long, you know what I mean? Some of the craziest shit has gone down in my life, and I was right here writing during much of that time.

But I'm alright. Life's not the same. Life, itself, is not the same; something is different these days.