Such a genius, I can’t even figure out what I’m supposed to right, er, write next – please pardon the Freudian slip – so I have to be told what to write next, and the tone, and what not to include, and what to include that I didn’t think was important, and darn if the Eagle don’t make me feel like terminal stupidity already. Can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like when I don’t have this biological carcass for the Eagle to peck, but most days I look forward to seeing how that goes.
It’s true, I’ve met lots of interesting people, most of whom think I’m nuts and some of whom tolerate me anyway and even find me amusingly entertaining most of the time when I’m not pissing them off. Perhaps they express the entertainment the Eagle enjoys at my expense. The attachment fella sort of reminds me of most of my life. God, how did such a chicken little become so reckless?
Now, in his advancing years, he’s closing in on chicken littledom again. Not in the the keeping his pen holstered and big mouth shut sense, but in the sense that he knows there is no way he can rough it again on this world he like he has roughed it in the past. Never fear, the Eagle has limitless fantasies of how to keep me providing entertainment.
Meanwhile, can’t say this world needs any such thing as you suggest. No sane homo sapien, nor any insane one, as you have so often said, would consider, probably not in even dead drunk tequila or sky high peyote state, dialing up the experiences I have, and have had. I hate to even think of what might lay ahead.
My first cousin Leo Bashinsky sent me these passing thoughts the other day; he sent same about a week before – either he’s getting forgetful or I didn’t get the point the first time; he gets most of my daily ravings:
“One can go to war alone, but you can’t build peace alone.” Jacques Chirac
“It’s one thing to feel that you are on the right path, but it’s another thing to think that yours is the only path.” Paulo Coelho, novelist
on the lighter side?
“If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.” George Harrison
I wrote back, asking Cuz if he knows anyone who knows where he/she is going?, because I don’t know anyone who knows, and in the two Paulo Coelho novels I read (The Alchemist and On the Road to Someplace in Spain name of which I now forget – Gondolpho or something remotely like that), none of the characters knew where they were going.
I did not say, but I suppose you, I, anyone, can build peace alone, inside. Outside, that’s another matter. Seems I’m not being aimed in that direction lately – more like a perpetual motion wrecking ball, the beatings will continue to morale improves knock off. Every now and then I am peace inside, maybe briefly each day, sometimes a little longer, but mostly not.
Was told in my sleep about ten days ago, in a siesta I think, “You will cause a lot of trouble next year.” I had so hoped to be be on a motorcycle with a lady of some similar insanity, preferably fluent in Spanish and Portugese, French would help, too, I can handle the redneck and dialect necessities, touring the Americas. Now that would be a great way to grow older and croak.
In the cooler months, when the snowbirds are down here, I play dupblicate bridge once a week at the Senior Citizen Center in Marathon. I think I’m the youngest player, or darn close. I told the table I was sitting with before we started yesterday, when the day comes I need Viagra, I am out to pasture. I said I can’t imagine what all Viagra does to a man, which he has no clue is happening, nor his doctor either. Darn if I can remember what was said, which provoked me to say that.
What puzzles me, why I still have libido and no lady to dance with? Which brings me back to the dancing chica pooch you sent – seriously astounding. Maybe I can figure out how to get her onto my websites despite my mechanical retardation, which is about as terminal as my stupidity.
I read both of those books by Coelho… the last one is “On the Road to Santiago”. Santiago de Campostella, in Galicia, Spain is suppose to be where the grave of one of the apostles is located, San Tiago a.k.a. Saint James! It was one of the Holy Christian pilgrimage destinations of medieval times… I have thought about doing it… it’s about 800 kilometers by foot!
Don’t know about viagra… have no plans of finding out about it… have not taken any type of allopathic medicine in decades but according to Traditional Chinese Medicine retaining the semen is important for those looking to cultivate and purify Shen!
It is a strange Universe… so much activity… just for the hell of it!
To Sancho …
A Key West amiga has made that pilgrimage, or part of it, three times in the last few years. I used to go places to have experiences. Everywhere I went, the angels were there waiting for me when I arrived. So learned that I could not escape them, I quit going anywhere, if I could help it. Alas, they are here at Walden, too!
I got tired of being alone today at Walden with the angels and the attack cat, Miss Kitty, who thinks she’s a Jaguar and I’m dinner and a her personal cat toy, so I got into my now pretty high mileage Toyota Highlander, which I bought used in 2006, and headed for Shangri-la, aka the nearest road house, aka Looe Key Tiki Bar, where the best contemporary American music usually can be found in the Keys. Just a mile from Walden, as the pelican flies, about two miles driving, unless you happen to own a boat or amphibian vehicle.
In about two minutes, my soul was restored and I had not even had a beer or tequila, not advised for someone who has natural-forming anabuse being manufactured in his blood. Had a blackened Caesar dolphin (not related to Flipper, called dorado in Mexico and mahi mahi in Hawaii) wrap and tater chips, and felt even better, as the gal in the band started belting out her rhythm and soul. She caused me to wonder, what’s the point in retaining my semen, when after I leave this carcass, I can’t take it with me?
Leaving the honky tonk maybe 45 minutes after arriving, I saw the fellow who wrote into bigpinekey.com’s Coconut Telegraph the other day, to say I am seriously eccentric and a genius, and Sloan for President! I told him I knew it was him. He laughed, we hugged. He said he would keep a lookout, he was sort of enjoying having at the Sloan-haters. I laughed, headed for the Highlander. If the Sloan-haters on the Coconut Telegraph knew who he is, they might choke. If I added up all the people who hate me, I would need a big telescope and a tower to take away the earth curvature to see to the end of the line. Biblical proportions, indeed.
Meanwhile, I could use a bit more activity, the kind a salty woman can provide. I kinda chuckle when I hear people talking about celibacy causing spiritual acceleration, when I know for a fact there is no faster way for me to spiritually accelerate than to be put with a salty woman with serious spiritual energies. When that happens, my fun load accelerates exponentially, and my workload and pain, due to the total unpredictability of such a woman, accelerate exponentially-squared. Jaguar Woman ain’t just something somebody went and made up.
There is a perhaps interesting Wisteria Island post today at this link:
BLM claims Wisteria Island, which is supposed to take you to Today’s Cock-a-doodle-doo at goodmorningkeywest.com.