Sunsets over the Verrazano Bridge, sleeping beneath the stench of mothballs and death in my grandmother’s house while she separated into smaller and smaller pieces that headed along the shore of Upper New York Bay, through the Narrows, and out into the ocean … her children, my aunt and uncles, the way they carried her in a small rectangular blue velvet (aquavelvet) box, taking turns, her to there and there to over there, as they disappeared into a white Lexus SUV and sped away down Shore Road. Sorting through pictures, divvying them up amongst those present.

I am clenching. My phone is disconnected due to a landlord error. I think my liver is rupturing. My computer at home is bedridden with infection. I am at work at 6:30pm on a sunny Wednesday evening.

There is no need for memory. Time to go home and smoke cigarettes.

But, oh, Japan!!

Lightning Bolt has been surrounding my brain lately.  When at home I play them LOUD LOUD LOUD, then I go to work and they’re stuck in my head while I waiting on tables and making bloody marys.

Going to see a neurologist on Wednesday.  Woo hoo.

This pic is from September 12, 2001.  The morning of 9/11 I had just purchased a plane ticket to NYC…then a few minutes later the first plane hit.  Obviously my flight was cancelled, so I ended up taking a bus to Martha’s Vineyard and shutting out the rest of the world for a few days.  That my towel is an American flag is a total coincidence…we were so shut out of what was going on, we were unaware of the flagfest that was happening everywhere else.  I only really thought about what had happened on a few occasions…first when I saw the boxes of blood being delivered to NYC via the bus I was on, second when the bus went through Boston and I saw some tall buildings, and third when I was riding the ferry out to the island, watching the seagulls keeping up with us.  After that it was swimming in the ocean, drinking good wine, eating swordfish and accidentally partying with the BRMC.  Strange days, indeed.  Most peculiar, mama…roll!

Chet came back, but I’m still here because, as I suspected, the problem was bigger than he anticpated. Something’s corrupted over there, I just know it. I’m gonna start taunting him like Mifune razzed the farmers in Seven Samurai … wilding up from tattered rags, hammering away at the bandit alarm.

Anyway, there’s music all over the fucking place. I’ve gotta get home and hash out the “piano” and cello tracks I procured this weekend from some fine musicians … Amanda Gustafson and Polly Vanderputten, respectively (I say “piano” because, well, because the instrument was purchased at Radio Shack and you can carry it under one arm).

Letting it go a little. One way or the other, you finish the project, you put it away. Let all the watermains in town burst and line cars back for 13 miles, what do I care? It’s sunny and warm(er) and I’m wearing a thick sweatband. I think my thoughts need to be tuned, but it’s ok because there’s plenty of reverb in here.

I’m doing my taxes now.  Everybody…don’t put off doing your taxes!  Do them today!  You’ll get your money back sooner and you won’t be one of those people at the post office on April 15, waiting in line behind idiots who need to be ‘coached’ through the process of filing their returns…unless you’re secretly in it for the mingling opportunities…the party atmosphere…the hot nubile babes who need help figuring out how to add lines 2 and 3…aw yeah…

People who order half-skim half-regular double-shot half-regular half-decaf no foam lattes and then pay for them with their credit cards can eat shit for all I care.