Of the essence

Yet even at that late stage, there was a level of our society which managed to live as if nothing much was happening--nothing irreparable. -- The Memoirs of a Survivor, almost half way through.

I forced myself to stay up yesterday to watch Mizumono, only to discover WCAU, the local NBC affiliate, had a rain delay for a Phillies Dodgers game. Piping mad, as I might have rested earlier, been ready to drive out sooner. Jugular piercing, gut thrust, and now Abigail Hobbs must truly be dying, I would have rather seen it full screen. The Swedenborgian I hired got lost earlier in the week, Thursday, trying to find her way back to my building, and I have been plagued with significant bowel evacuation ever since. She was on Bainbridge when she pinged like the fourth time to inform me she got called in for a death watch. I have not quite let her go, and it actually matters little, whether she turns her cell back on and I kindly tell her, with little perturbation as possible, that it isn't working, as powerless as I am, struggling with near cold turkey because I am trying to stretch.

Enough cash on hand to roll to bodega later to mitigate my withdrawal, hoping to have enough time to dash to Joe's as well, surrounded by utter silence, not a friend in the world, a former neighbor from Page Street told me "marriage does not complete you," and there is certainly enough evidence for that, Jace not unique with his impulse control issues, only recognized within the industry.

Loneliness isn't a salve either, despite my activities, even my exasperation with people: On my very first day as Jerry's student, I thundered at him in modulated deference, "Newspapers don't publish good poetry," and he bitch slapped back, "Newspapers publish perfectly good poetry."

33 years later, post his myocardial infarction, my major depressive episode burn injuries, I am still right. He's not. Newspapers publish typical American double entendres of the sort which can't take risks in the public square, like the rough and passionate sex an R rating gets away with suggesting every so often. David Slade must be hot.