The fatal dive through the window from the apartment through the glass. After being a snipe and being able to shoot like Clint Eastwood for miles. I hit the target. But I went home from the park and went up to the third floor. And instead of trying to impress the scoffers I dived through the window down onto the small assembly of cooking tables. And my mother made a meal for the three of us made of leaves. At first it was a strange plate with little porcelain underpants. She mad a meal of vines and leaves that we all sat around the table to eat. Some strange food. Some food that only gods could eat.
It had started out in the city. And the city was somehow under attack. And the buildings were collapsing. I ran into a store. A department store. We all ran intuit he back where the columns were the thickest. Without any real hope of being saved. And yet! We we joined up with a small . . . The guy that had a funny car that sat three. Sort of a hillbilly type of guy. And he was ambivalent about me, I know that! He didn’t know whiter to trust me or not. And he brought me back to his little group. And they were and odd eclectic bunch too! And in the end they spouted all sorts of crazy rituals. Little eccentric types of things that they felt the need to do. But they could tell that I . . . uh. . . wasn’t part of them. The found reasons why I wasn’t and expelled me of course until they got attacked. And one of their own went to the park and I was able to show my worth by handling a rifle. And I was a very good at it like Clint Eastwood. But in the end, I tool the dive from Elk Grove, at the old apartment, down through the glass.
Let down, the Norwegian and Dutch ‘bourmay‘. Some ancient people comes to mind, comes to tongue. Hiring as many architects as they could. Having them work on as many tables as they could find. The old house. Remapping the bloody footprint. Recomposing it. Firing old Bryan along the way. Setting him out on his own.
Rocky and chain drive steamships from the turn of the last century. Of before the beginning of the last century, I should say? Supposedly there were four or five types that ran by some sort of mechanism along the keel to power the steamship. In addition to paddle wheels of course. There was a young boy and he was bullied. He wanted to join the championship for boxing. He ended up being hazed by his main opponent. But he wouldn’t fight. His coach told him to wait. And there in the ring you could box and do what you need to do.
Where I was given a whole bunch of stuff that I had that was old. I wanted to plug a light in and Donald Trump stuck his head in the door and very securely plugged in the UHF connector to the wall there and was going to hook up a radio. Inadvertently a work light was hooked up there instead. Then I was driving all the way out into the ‘boonies‘ into the southern part of Chicago. And I got to this one place that was an animal pound or a prison pound? And I went there and they had all these cats and dogs that could talk to each other. They were hiding behind a little metal screen. And every time I would come close they would shut up. Every time I would move away I could hear them. Again, there is an issue of compression. In any case, I went back and forth with that a couple of times and finally went out to get my car and went driving. I found that I drove a long distance and a long way because it was all walled off and fenced off along I-57 or somewhere? A really massive,massive cooperate property filled with very large buildings. So what I had to do was drive back over this funny asphalt to be able to get back to the intersection to find my way back to the West and then back up north.
Two gate keepers. One with a mean angry dog that I managed to get by and talk to. A black guy curled up naked. When I bumped his balls accidentally he thought I wanted to give him a kiss. But my body language told him that he was wrong. And I and my fellows left and went about our business of finding out what we needed to find out. And the other gatekeeper behind the door. He had information. He pretended like he was reading the newspaper. All the rest of them did too. They were part of a gang. They sat there waiting for trouble. But I wasn’t trouble. They went back to the newspapers.
My father was a sharper working with outfits wildcatting with the CIA and other big governmental organizations. And he was on station somewhere and they invited me out. They had these little shacks and these little small business shacks to live in. But they had to move to another one. So we were all in there together like a bunch of guys dressed suit and tie. This one had an underground ‘just below the surface‘ type of room. You had to walk down a set of stairs and that’s where you lived. My client ended up trying to find a painting for him or for somebody else. And of course I could get the rights but I found I could get the painting so I called up. And it turned out that he was ‘the guy’ so he had two phones so he was the guy who really wanted it. He was brokering it so stopped the car in front because I was on the cell phone. He had a little small type of agency. So he came to the door with two phones and handed me a couple. And of course I had to talk my way through that. So it was like conducting business in both cases.
Grief counseling in the high fashion of terror art by the most post-modern artist of the era. Everyone so erudite, and so sophisticated! Virtue signaling with little objects in their hands carved to brilliance by the artist’s designates offering amazingly trite details. Oh what a wonderful thing darling to have in your possession. To show just how intelligent refined and smart you are!
I was attending a university art class all around a very big table. There were all sorts of things there and around it. And there were assemblages from different types of odds and ends. Paper and gauze and chrome foil and all these other things. There were all these young gals and I was the oldest guy there of course. Many years past them. We’re all having a good time and when it comes up to the end I sit there and uh . . . because we don’t have much time to get out and bring stuff back to other departments I help put everybody’s stuff together and so on and so forth. A couple of the girls like me. And of course all the young boys are jealous. Everyone else is there and I am joking with two that ask me how old I am. And I say, “If you love me you won’t ask!” (they laugh) Another one says something where we are camping it up to the nines as far as being shamelessly involved. Of course, this is all bullshit! How cute!
So I am in this high tone airport in Zurich or something. Saudi Arabia of some place, And there are all these very very important performance oriented people that are attest people. One in particular who has got accolades in all the great arts. He’s got an exhibition of his work in the airport gallery. Of course, times running down and I am supposed to be going to take a plane but I go there anyhow and wander over. I look around and there’s all sorts of people there that are ‘rubbing brass‘ that are virtue signaling. What ever all that stuff? They’re buying that stuff. One guy says, “Look, I got some stupid looking thing for eighty bucks!” It’s totally useless made out of wood and all sorts of other crap. Really silly kind of stuff. And the artist is there and what can I say? So I end up, I pick one two and I get on the plane. They wrap it. It’s full of all sorts of gizmo’s and gadgets in the box. I go to get on my plane and at one point consider getting a faux guitar but I am glad that I don’t have to sit there with it on my lap for umpteen hours. But there is no where else to put it on the plane! Oh yeah!