Saturday, December 27, 2014
Silent night. Holy night. ................ Got nobody to call. Everybody busy with families, candlelight.Thought I'd call you, Ivan. Another orphan, kind of. You'd be sitting there, probably with some kind of candle guttering somewhere. Yep. You probably got time, time for a call. I am in an industrial parking lot. Got this old cube van oufitted with Acme woodburning stove.I actually put in a stovepipe through a roof vent. Kinda cozy, but, think it through, I am in a junkyard parking lot. Cops coming around now and then checking my address (It was actually a friend's address, and they know not only that I don't live there, the friend is today getting evicted.They won't accept Wexler's junk yard as an address, surely. Hope nobody comes around tonight). Somethinf I was going to ask you. I forget what. Silent night. Holy night. 'Round yon virgin mother and child Holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace.
Saturday, December 20, 2014
At the age of 76, Joe Brod decided he wanted his life back. Lately he had been having dreams of the future, but it seemed to Joe, that there was no more future, perhaps only an imaginary, crabwise inching into the past. And perhaps the future was really the past. Joe Brod, wakes and prepares breakfast in his condo kitchenette in exurban Newmarket, Ontario. It's early in the morning, but Brod couldn't sleep, partly because he's obsessed with the seemingly mildly retarded beauty he had once made love to, now in hospital with advanced alzheimers. He had visited her, but all she wanted, in her seemingly demented state was fifty dollars for the bootlegger, "fer to get whiskey,"which was hardly possible, as she was in her hospital bed with a catheter and an oxygen inhaler. She was tethered. He had left depressed, feeling once again, that every woman he had tourched seemed to go to hell. Is it because I like the crazy ones? Is it because Im crazy? Hm. What does it matter? The mad seem to live forever. Like you, Joe? You are seventy-six,and after years of whoring,writing and drinking,you are still kind of a kid. That phrase out of the Twenties, "Oh you kid" That damn epoch speaks a lot of pathos, tin roof blues, and oh you kid. He knows Newmarket because Main Street is so much the boulevard of broken dreams, as in the posters,closed storefronts and suddenly burgeoning bars. A Mexican cantina is trying to bring it back to life. People doing the Hat Dance, bums pretending to be high rollers, what with the cheap tequila and inexpensive food. He remembers his Spanish from Mexico, and for a while, just for a while, he makes his crab crawl backwards into time. If he can now not return to Mexico, Mexico is coming to him in exurban Newmarket. Briefly, he has his life back, the senoritas, the American divorcees.The warmth of her. Sweet blow by the hot springs. In the moring, it is over. Back to the hospital, to visit his Kallikak girlfriend, the strange portal back to his past. But did he have to give her an evil bite? Strange chimaeric nature.