I'm not voting until the 4th, in case Obama's a Vampire

Evangelize

I feel like I know what it's like to have religion. Angels and demons and Commandments and the Wonder Working Power. Life's by way of Gabriel Garcia Marquez-luminously banal and surreal, ur-real. My squalor is eclipsed by my joy, and I will rise to meet the road. I cannot believe my life.

Wolf's Milk

Lots to say, lots going on. My bicycle continues to drift in and out of operation, this time a deformed back tire that twitches and writhes as I ride from place to place. It's very disconcerting. Constant and persistent peripheral hallucinations...strange things at the corner of my eye. New people, new people. Strange and spontaneous moments with, and the usual run of Things that already occupy my plate. Gotta do some triage, line up the wounded and the wounds in the correct order, alphabetical or otherwise. And I've quit smoking. Seriously. I figured my life wasn't complicated enough.

Autumnal

It is the sabbath, and the season of mists. Living by the river, the fog is thicker and more prevalent here-many days when I leave the comfort of the neighborhood, it's clear and sunny everywhere else, but my block is covered with a thick bank of cloud when I come back. Like this morning. I can barely see the houses across the street, and when I just called in my gray cat, it seemed as though a tiny slice of river-fog came fuzzily into my living room. Then he started yowling. Sort of ruined it. Damn chatty cat.

Hep-C Cola. For my favorite counterfeiter.

John McCain, Salad Tossing Dragon

Consumption

Surprises

The last debate, the only one I've been able to watch live at home. And it was a doozy. Lots of good stuff, but right now, watching MSNBC, Chris (is that a head or a container for a head?) Matthews is talking about how this election has taught him about women and their rights and their authority in society. This just after pointing out a quote from McCain about abortions that I wouldn't have noticed off the top of my head.

Let me just say-whoever's been giving Chris Matthews lessons in feminism, I owe you a meal. Good for you.

The Coldest Cut
Ramblin' Chinmerkin Steve
Invisible Knapsack of White Privilege Anethyst

I made an agreement with my neighbor who's been upbraiding me about my support of Gordon Smith. I told her that I'll vote for Jeff Merkley if she takes me to see Gordon Smith so I can give him a hug.

Fever, sick, and physically rejecting the sweet oily black that keeps me sane and swift. My magic wand's betrayed me-a fire on one end and a fool on the other.

Diversion

So Dave and I have a working theory that goes something like this: There are certain phrases that should they come out of your mouth...you're a douchebag. Right now we've got three...

I'm a cage fighter.
My favorite philosopher...
I'd call myself a theologian.

I'm soliciting nominations for further induction. My first survey-discuss, my glorious hobo colleagues.

Titleist

The cold is sharp against my skin. Lovingly, sweetly, affectionately sharp. Sharp like the bowl of razor blades I had for breakfast. Bowl of razor blades, bowl of cheetos. Cheetos and milk. Eat the cheetos with chopsticks, one chopstick's a straw. For the milk. The orange, tangy, vile cheeto milk. As opposed to cheetah milk. Which makes you fast.

Constance Nonsense
Judy Thorburglar, who steals your thunder.

I've made myself fast, pinned my flag to the ground. Full of notions and sundries. Sundried tomatoes, sundered and roasted. Forgotten. If I had an A.I. I'd name it Albert, for The Stranger. Or maybe Willie, for the same reason.

One day left.

Hate

Please accept this with the caveat that I am sleep-deprived and angry-accept it in the spirit with which it is intended: I hope you fuckers all get cancer.

Let me start again.

I have been on an adventure. This is not unusual-I have adventures regular. Usually of the 10-15 minute variety, sometimes along the lines of a few hours, or a day. This one's more like five or six days, and sometime-probably tomorrow-I'll tell you its story.

As is my wont. As is my sad affliction.

But for now, know that my adventure has been bookended. Bookended by what? I hear you say. I'm glad you asked.

I find I measure my life in days. As in the-moment-I-rise-until-the-moment-I-fall-asleep days. And I have frittered, murdered, wasted and pissed away some of those days. I've burgled time, and had it burgled by Time Burglers. Not Time Bandits, though. Midgets are a hack move.

Rarely, though, have I seen days like these. Aborted days. Bloody days, punctured and vacuumed from the womb that is my newly opened eyes in the morning, drawn dead and awful through a ragged birth canal that is the narrow hours I spent awake when I should have been asleep. I make the mudra of travel, and scatter the three-horned mudra of damnation like poison birdseed everywhere I step.

See you tomorrow.

Interstitial

I'm pausing my vacation just long enough to confirm my arrival and safety here on Orcas Island. I'll be your San Juanderer for the moment. Full account come Monday, when I return to the Euge. As of right now, I'm well and wet and tired. I'm relaxing my body, which is the next best thing to actually relaxing my mind. Look me up, clade, when I come back. I'll be receiving.