The Way Life is
Life is shocking.
I moved in to the apartment at 7:20 pm Saturday night, could not get to sleep at 2:00 am, slept for an hour, maybe two, not sure, kept trying to fall asleep with One Hundred Years of Solitude, a book which, what, I had only been able NOT to start for 34 years, but somehow seemed to be the right book now, among the twenty or so books I carefully selected and put in a box when readying to leave Seattle...
Terrible highway noise, from Interstate I-84. How is this at four am or two am? During rush hour, the noise is less, but late at night, the whirl of Celinesque infinite void flies across the sky across the quarter mile to where I lived, amplified...
I woke at 4:15 am, had to take a sleeping pill. Woke at 6:20 or 6:30 to an incredible noise. It was not a mechanical malfunction, but the regular noise of a gas furnice solenoid.
My god.
I did not want to knock on the landloads door at 8:15 am, but, what the heck, then again, I had just given her a $1,277 check, hardly a laughing matter, too mindful of deliberate courtesy ($725 rent at 28/30ths pro-rata plus six-hundred dollar deposit).
'We have to talk'.
She comes over. Stern look.
'I cannot live this way'.
'I will give you back your check, then go'.
So thats pack at eleven am, unpack at 8 pm to nine or so, repack at 11 am.
Shit, I need a drink.
Life is shocking.
I am now situated back in the Homestay Hotel, the stuff of Genentech, Microsoft, Intel, Nike kind, but I like it. What little comfort I can get, I take. I don't have the money, but I have a Visa Card with sufficient overage, sure beats the end of a gun in my mouth. Not my imagined method anyway, too much mess. Too sudden.
I cried today. I cried yesterday. My hands shake.
Its like a Kafka novel, you need a drivers license issued by the state, NOT where you carry from the issuer of your previous state, you need that to get a Post Office Box. But this is not allowed, well, at least not on paper. My mail from NJ could not be held any longer, so I had to get one in Bellevue WA, and of course it was too late to get THAT mail, and now I need another mail box to get that forwarded mail, and close the old one...
Needless to say, offically and rightfully so, I am officially a Oregon State Resident, declaired it by choice, the minute I was issued a vehicle registration. But in conventional terms, I am still not fully valid. Imagine. I cried today.
Why did I get a freaking Bellevue PO Box, when I clearly was on my way to Oregon? Well, the small matter of the soveign leader of a nation, who I interviewed with for two weeks, armed guards, mirrored rooms with cameras, the small matter of H_mel and S_cur ity having been all over me for weeks, and was directly under consideration to be HER personal assistant, at times, having access to classified materials from the Wh_te H_use, they had given me a letter of intent, saying they intended to bring me on, but unfortunately not till late summer, as 'The Director' was to be out of the country.
The small matter of twenty major projects, I was to coordinate, one major bread winner, but the second one, on behalf of a woman who, ahem, goes by the name Mich ele Ohh. Do you copy?
What is going to happen now, ruin my profile, my reputation? Boo whoo, I am so terrified, I have so much to loose!
So shit, my mail had to land.
Then the last minute phone call: 'David, H_ mel and S_cur ity could not clear you. You will not do business with B_B_ now, or ever in the future' [1]. It hurt so bad. The apoge of 53.5 years on earth, the maturation of five decades of growth, to come to a shoot growing into a brick wall.
I cried today. Then played a few hours of bullet (two minute, one second increment) chess.
Then I drank. And now here I am, writing about it, too lucid, at least relative to what I have drunk.
This is all a true story.
Love dk
[1] What a shocker, they finally cought on. 'David is a loose cannon', I surmise. But so are the ancient shamons of old, the odd witchmen in reed huts who by listening to the ground, know the course of events? These are strange fellows. But not without accuracy. This is disturbing to the power structure. And that is me. Go figure.
What else do you expect of me. God strike me dead if I lie. The Director, the soveriegn leader of a nation, asked me in when I was in Maine: 'Do you have psychic experiences?' 'Yes. Many." "Do you still have them?' "Yes, not as often, but defintely, and when I do, still major'.
So now you turn from me? Fear of what? The dark night of the soul.
I moved in to the apartment at 7:20 pm Saturday night, could not get to sleep at 2:00 am, slept for an hour, maybe two, not sure, kept trying to fall asleep with One Hundred Years of Solitude, a book which, what, I had only been able NOT to start for 34 years, but somehow seemed to be the right book now, among the twenty or so books I carefully selected and put in a box when readying to leave Seattle...
Terrible highway noise, from Interstate I-84. How is this at four am or two am? During rush hour, the noise is less, but late at night, the whirl of Celinesque infinite void flies across the sky across the quarter mile to where I lived, amplified...
I woke at 4:15 am, had to take a sleeping pill. Woke at 6:20 or 6:30 to an incredible noise. It was not a mechanical malfunction, but the regular noise of a gas furnice solenoid.
My god.
I did not want to knock on the landloads door at 8:15 am, but, what the heck, then again, I had just given her a $1,277 check, hardly a laughing matter, too mindful of deliberate courtesy ($725 rent at 28/30ths pro-rata plus six-hundred dollar deposit).
'We have to talk'.
She comes over. Stern look.
'I cannot live this way'.
'I will give you back your check, then go'.
So thats pack at eleven am, unpack at 8 pm to nine or so, repack at 11 am.
Shit, I need a drink.
Life is shocking.
I am now situated back in the Homestay Hotel, the stuff of Genentech, Microsoft, Intel, Nike kind, but I like it. What little comfort I can get, I take. I don't have the money, but I have a Visa Card with sufficient overage, sure beats the end of a gun in my mouth. Not my imagined method anyway, too much mess. Too sudden.
I cried today. I cried yesterday. My hands shake.
Its like a Kafka novel, you need a drivers license issued by the state, NOT where you carry from the issuer of your previous state, you need that to get a Post Office Box. But this is not allowed, well, at least not on paper. My mail from NJ could not be held any longer, so I had to get one in Bellevue WA, and of course it was too late to get THAT mail, and now I need another mail box to get that forwarded mail, and close the old one...
Needless to say, offically and rightfully so, I am officially a Oregon State Resident, declaired it by choice, the minute I was issued a vehicle registration. But in conventional terms, I am still not fully valid. Imagine. I cried today.
Why did I get a freaking Bellevue PO Box, when I clearly was on my way to Oregon? Well, the small matter of the soveign leader of a nation, who I interviewed with for two weeks, armed guards, mirrored rooms with cameras, the small matter of H_mel and S_cur ity having been all over me for weeks, and was directly under consideration to be HER personal assistant, at times, having access to classified materials from the Wh_te H_use, they had given me a letter of intent, saying they intended to bring me on, but unfortunately not till late summer, as 'The Director' was to be out of the country.
The small matter of twenty major projects, I was to coordinate, one major bread winner, but the second one, on behalf of a woman who, ahem, goes by the name Mich ele Ohh. Do you copy?
What is going to happen now, ruin my profile, my reputation? Boo whoo, I am so terrified, I have so much to loose!
So shit, my mail had to land.
Then the last minute phone call: 'David, H_ mel and S_cur ity could not clear you. You will not do business with B_B_ now, or ever in the future' [1]. It hurt so bad. The apoge of 53.5 years on earth, the maturation of five decades of growth, to come to a shoot growing into a brick wall.
I cried today. Then played a few hours of bullet (two minute, one second increment) chess.
Then I drank. And now here I am, writing about it, too lucid, at least relative to what I have drunk.
This is all a true story.
Love dk
[1] What a shocker, they finally cought on. 'David is a loose cannon', I surmise. But so are the ancient shamons of old, the odd witchmen in reed huts who by listening to the ground, know the course of events? These are strange fellows. But not without accuracy. This is disturbing to the power structure. And that is me. Go figure.
What else do you expect of me. God strike me dead if I lie. The Director, the soveriegn leader of a nation, asked me in when I was in Maine: 'Do you have psychic experiences?' 'Yes. Many." "Do you still have them?' "Yes, not as often, but defintely, and when I do, still major'.
So now you turn from me? Fear of what? The dark night of the soul.
posted by transformation at 11:16 PM
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