I write things in my head,
but when I get to a computer
I don't feel like writing.
Reading Anne Rice's Blackwood Farm,
thoroughly enjoying it.
And this is another offline weekend ...
School days, school days ...
Hamilton is too crowded to spend much time online
The Sleeptalker appeared for the first time since before the holidays,
arrived at the Dark Corner on the evening of the tenth. As suspected, he
had found a new patron and had been living there. According to his
version of the story, the patron had been "too demanding" so the
Sleeptalker left. He is incredibly successful in finding these men but
just doesn't really understand the concept of being a rent boy. If
you get free lodging, food, clothes, money, etc., there's a price to be
If you want to dance, you have to pay the piper.
I worry about him. He'll be thirty-one years old soon and even though he
looks many years younger, there is still a limit to any rent boy's career
because of gay men's preference for youth. And what will happen to the
Sleeptalker when he can no longer rely on these sporadic, temporary
bonuses? (If they can be called that.)
Felix recently wrote about how he loves the cycle of the changing seasons.
I know what he means, but I just don't want to be cold anymore. The chill
pre-dawn hours we have here now are more than enough a taste of winter for
A reader asked if I'd liked Anne Rice's Blackwood Farm. Yes, very
much. It's one of my favorites. I was much surprised by the ending, how
she killed off one of her major characters. If she ever does that to my
beloved Lestat, it will be the last of her books I read.
Reading. Well, I just finished a remarkable, massive novel, An
Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears. It's really four novels,
the same events being told by four of the participants. It's all set in
England in the mid-1600s, just after the restoration of the monarchy. So
in addition to the main plot there are many asides which are both
interesting and amusing. Like the man who was said to be "quite
fastidious" because he insisted on taking a bath at least once every three
And although I haven't yet read his mega-seller, I've now read all of Dan
Brown's other books, after having found Angels and Demons on the
dollar-shelves. He certainly isn't shy about concocting utterly
improbable plots. (I can't remember a case of a major best-seller taking
so long to make it from hardcover to paperback, as is the case with The
Da Vinci Code).
The Sleeptalker made another visit to the Dark Corner, arriving after I
had already settled down to sleep. He had a bicycle again, said when I
asked, "I found it." Hmmmm.
The best thing about finding abandoned food is not that it's free,
although that's very nice. No, it's being relieved of the decision about
what to eat. I often find myself walking around, feeling slightly hungry,
money and foodstamps in my pocket, and I just can't decide what to buy.
So an abandoned plate-lunch box is most welcome. Much of the stuff is not
what I would've bought, had I made up my mind, but I'll eat almost all of
it. Major exceptions are the local dishes, chicken long rice (too
slimey) and lomi lomi salmon (too much onion).
Now old Grubby has disappeared. I think that makes me the senior survivor
of the early morning mall gang.
The Monday holiday will, of course, be an offline day.
I spent Tuesday afternoon with the Sleeptalker, first on campus, later at
the mall. He is sleeping under a bridge on Nimitz Highway and had walked
from there to campus, a rather long trek. (That "found" bicycle was
evidently "lost" again.)
I told him I wished he wouldn't appear a day or two before Third
Wednesday. "I like seeing you when you're poor," he said, "so I don't
have to feel bad about you spending money on me." Instead, I get to "feel
bad" because I have none to spend on him.
He was in a bouyant mood, verging at times on the hyper or manic. Not
drug-inspired, if what he said was true. And he jumped from one topic to
another and back again so continuously that I felt rather exhausted by the
time we bid each other farewell after sunset. He told me I could sleep
under the bridge, "but I don't think you'd like it." I don't think I
He had been reading some book on angels, one of those writers who think
angels are among us. He asked me several times if I was an angel. I told
him I really didn't think so. And as we parted he asked again. "Let's
it this way," I said, "I'm as much of an angel as you are."
a gray, wet, windy week
I wish I were in Delhi
still falls the rain ...
year of the dog
(arch back, raise fur, hisssss)
Just teasing. Nice doggie.
And, at last, intervals of blue sky and sunshine outnumber the clouds and