So Swami starts psychoanalyzing me. I hear him say something like, it appears to me you frequently employ derision as a defense mechanism.
That’s just before I drift off into a daydream. I imagine Swami’s life before he arrived in the USA. I imagine he was born in a poor farming village in India co-joined at the ass with a twin. I imagine Swami’s mother doing everything she can to bring attention to her sons’ plight, finally connecting with a doctor in the USA who agrees to perform ass surgery to separate the boys. I imagine Swami’s mother left with the task of picking which son will have a rectum and which will go without. I imagine a coin flip takes place to settle the matter, with Swami being selected as the asshole getter. I imagine Swami always getting hit up by his twin---that his twin is never shy to put the guilt on him for taking possession of their sphincter. I imagine Swami allowing his twin to pose as him at the Powelton Club time and time again to the point that Swami can hardly ever get his golfing in anymore. . .that is until the colostomy bag accident at tea time causes the ruse to become revealed. . . .
For some reason I find Swami glaring at me, asking me angrily, have you been listening to anything I’ve said?
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
02/06/01
I suppose I could have brought up the obsession I had about the secret room in Porch Rot’s house with Swami Hard Salami when I went to see him today, but I kept it to myself. I can accept needing to be on medication to fight my depression--- especially given that my probation officer has ordered me to comply with depression treatment under penalty of jail--- but there’s just no way in hell I’ll ever accept that I’m delusional. What I have, I joke to myself, is embellishment disorder. They’re just stories that crop up in my mind. Sometimes they turn out like shows you’d see on TV or at the movies. I know they’re not real, but they just play on, and they’re actually pretty entertaining most of the time.
I guess Swami will eventually put out the verdict on me, but I’ll be damned if I do anything to make it easy for him to get to that point. He just seems to be fucking around half the time anyway. I just keep thinking why be straight up with this fucked up fucker?
Delusions don’t seem to really exist as they’re defined except in the mind of an outside observer. Seems to me that truly delusional people never seem to really know to use that word to apply to themselves. That’s not to say you still can’t develop an anxiety disorder worrying your life has been one big delusion. That’s probably more where I’m at.
Speaking of anxiety creation, Swami tells me, living out in that trailer in the wilderness, it may only be a matter of time before you turn into the Unabomber.
Unabomber? Are you kidding me? Fucked up fucker!
You know I hate when people do that Unabomber shit to me---one of Percy’s geek friends at the Super Bowl party all but said the same thing to me.
Do you know what Ted Kaczynski’s IQ is? Swami asks me.
167, I reply. Entered Harvard at age 16. Subjected to cruel, CIA-sponsored psychological experiments. Became a mathematics professor at Berkeley while still in his 20‘s. Quit. Moved into a shack in Montana. Started setting off bombs everywhere. Wrote a manifesto critical of industrial society. . .
Swami just sat there quietly looking at me like I was nuts.
Shit, why did I just do that?
Good fucking gracious.
I guess Swami will eventually put out the verdict on me, but I’ll be damned if I do anything to make it easy for him to get to that point. He just seems to be fucking around half the time anyway. I just keep thinking why be straight up with this fucked up fucker?
Delusions don’t seem to really exist as they’re defined except in the mind of an outside observer. Seems to me that truly delusional people never seem to really know to use that word to apply to themselves. That’s not to say you still can’t develop an anxiety disorder worrying your life has been one big delusion. That’s probably more where I’m at.
Speaking of anxiety creation, Swami tells me, living out in that trailer in the wilderness, it may only be a matter of time before you turn into the Unabomber.
Unabomber? Are you kidding me? Fucked up fucker!
You know I hate when people do that Unabomber shit to me---one of Percy’s geek friends at the Super Bowl party all but said the same thing to me.
Do you know what Ted Kaczynski’s IQ is? Swami asks me.
167, I reply. Entered Harvard at age 16. Subjected to cruel, CIA-sponsored psychological experiments. Became a mathematics professor at Berkeley while still in his 20‘s. Quit. Moved into a shack in Montana. Started setting off bombs everywhere. Wrote a manifesto critical of industrial society. . .
Swami just sat there quietly looking at me like I was nuts.
Shit, why did I just do that?
Good fucking gracious.
Monday, December 6, 2010
02/05/01
I was going back trying to figure out how the crazy idea came into my mind that Phil Palfrey might still be alive and caged like an animal in Porch Rot’s house. I realize now it was probably from the story Tommy New Yawka told me last month about the feral man the fire department found locked inside a burning apartment in the city. I guess Tommy’s rescue company had all they could do to bust through all the locks and reinforcements to get to the man, only to have him start attacking the firemen from that point out of fear and insanity. Meanwhile the fire continued to rage. Tommy said he decided at some point to grab the rabid little guy and put him on his back, with the guy sinking his teeth in him and growling the whole way down.
Usually Tommy is away for days at a time at the firehouse. His shift always begins and ends off-hours so he never has to contend with rush hour traffic really. He came home from work late one night and found a pack of coyotes crossing through the yard. He came to my trailer the next morning and asked to borrow a gun. He seemed unaware I was a convicted felon. Not surprised, just sort of unaware, blasé about it even, and that was surprising to me. I assumed everyone in town knew. I said my guns belong to Phebe now, you’ll have to go to the house and ask her. Tell her you need her 30-30 and her green and yellow box of ammo. Not the red box, the green and yellow one.
I can understand Tommy’s worry about coyotes with a house full of little kids like that but I almost got the sense that he was afraid he himself might get attacked by them. I couldn’t help but say oh, you city slicker, those coyotes won’t leave teeth marks on you any bigger than the ones the feral man left on you when you carried him out of the fire.
In any case, I’m glad Tommy’s opinion of convicted felons seems better than his opinion of coyotes.
Usually Tommy is away for days at a time at the firehouse. His shift always begins and ends off-hours so he never has to contend with rush hour traffic really. He came home from work late one night and found a pack of coyotes crossing through the yard. He came to my trailer the next morning and asked to borrow a gun. He seemed unaware I was a convicted felon. Not surprised, just sort of unaware, blasé about it even, and that was surprising to me. I assumed everyone in town knew. I said my guns belong to Phebe now, you’ll have to go to the house and ask her. Tell her you need her 30-30 and her green and yellow box of ammo. Not the red box, the green and yellow one.
I can understand Tommy’s worry about coyotes with a house full of little kids like that but I almost got the sense that he was afraid he himself might get attacked by them. I couldn’t help but say oh, you city slicker, those coyotes won’t leave teeth marks on you any bigger than the ones the feral man left on you when you carried him out of the fire.
In any case, I’m glad Tommy’s opinion of convicted felons seems better than his opinion of coyotes.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
@GLHancock takes on @Scatoma 12/5/10 ouch!
She said: @Scatoma Spam much? #writechat
He said: @GLHancock Define spam. . . #writechat I've been doing this for 8 months. I get 1000 reads per week and growing. I am making nothing.
She said: @Scatoma One version of spamming on Twitter is to cram as many hashtags into a tweet as you can. What do you call it? #writechat
He said: @GLHancock The reason you don't like me is not because I'm cramming too many hashtags into my tweets. If Twitter tells me to stop I will.
She said: @Scatoma The other kind of spamming is to send the same message to many individual @s, making them look like personal messages. #writechat
He said: @GLHancock I don't use deceptive tweets. What are you referring to?
She said: RT@Scatoma: The reason you don't like me is not because I'm cramming too many hashtags into my tweets. || Huh? I don't even know you!
She said: @Scatoma If you have a beef, please respond here, where you sent the first message (along with a lot of other hashtags). #writechat
He said: @GLHancock You're a industry insider unhappy with an independent author using technology in a legitimate way to promote his work #writechat
She said: @Scatoma As I wrote, I didn't even know you. Now I see you're one of THOSE. And a spambot. Why RT me if you think I'm wrong? #writechat
She said: @Scatoma: Youre a industry insider unhappy with an independent author... | Tell it to @Amazon where I SP Kindle material #writechat
He said: @GLHancock You wanna stage a Donald Trump v. Rosie O'Donnell fight here I'm all for it. I'm already seeing my numbers tick upward #writechat
She said: @Scatoma No one cares about an anonymous free blog poseurs' "numbers." Spam us and slam us, I have paid editing work to do. 'bye #writechat
He said: @GLHancock Define spam. . . #writechat I've been doing this for 8 months. I get 1000 reads per week and growing. I am making nothing.
She said: @Scatoma One version of spamming on Twitter is to cram as many hashtags into a tweet as you can. What do you call it? #writechat
He said: @GLHancock The reason you don't like me is not because I'm cramming too many hashtags into my tweets. If Twitter tells me to stop I will.
She said: @Scatoma The other kind of spamming is to send the same message to many individual @s, making them look like personal messages. #writechat
He said: @GLHancock I don't use deceptive tweets. What are you referring to?
She said: RT@Scatoma: The reason you don't like me is not because I'm cramming too many hashtags into my tweets. || Huh? I don't even know you!
She said: @Scatoma If you have a beef, please respond here, where you sent the first message (along with a lot of other hashtags). #writechat
He said: @GLHancock You're a industry insider unhappy with an independent author using technology in a legitimate way to promote his work #writechat
She said: @Scatoma As I wrote, I didn't even know you. Now I see you're one of THOSE. And a spambot. Why RT me if you think I'm wrong? #writechat
She said: @Scatoma: Youre a industry insider unhappy with an independent author... | Tell it to @Amazon where I SP Kindle material #writechat
He said: @GLHancock You wanna stage a Donald Trump v. Rosie O'Donnell fight here I'm all for it. I'm already seeing my numbers tick upward #writechat
She said: @Scatoma No one cares about an anonymous free blog poseurs' "numbers." Spam us and slam us, I have paid editing work to do. 'bye #writechat
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
02/04/01
After our interlude the other day I asked Phebe about the missing Cumberland spearhead my father gave me. She brought it down to me this morning, she said she got it out of the safe deposit box at the bank first thing in the morning. My gosh, what a wonderful piece of work it is! Probably worth as much as a tractor!
Exactly where you told me to put it, she says to me, what are your getting senile?
So I say to Phebe You didn’t go tell anyone about this?
She just looks at me like I’m an asshole. If I tell you I’ll keep something secret, you better damn believe that’s what I’m going to do!
Back when I first started getting sick, before we had Cornelius and Maddy move in and take over the operation for me, Phebe was working day and night, milking the cows some days twice a day and then putting in a full shift at the hospital too. One day she went in to work exhausted and injected an old man accidentally with something that ended up killing him. There had been some rumors going around that Phebe was running the farm for me and reporting to work exhausted, so the hospital was nervous about indemnifying her. At some point later Phebe was put under oath in a deposition and she went through a couple hours of questions and denied up and down she had ever worked on the farm before any shift, or that she ever reported to work too tired. With this placed on the record, the hospital continued to stand behind her and moved to settle the matter without much further ado. Everything could have fallen squarely on her shoulders. She pretty much saved the farm. I guess sometimes you have to decide which virtue you’re going to give top billing in life: honesty or loyalty. Don’t know which one a marriage requires most, but I now think I know which one keeping a farm requires most.
I think moral choices must have been easier for people when this Cumberland spearhead was made. All you had to do was keep from starving to death and everything was good---you were a fucking hero!
Where to put this god damn computer disk though where I won’t forget it or where it won’t get stolen? I guess I’ll keep it hidden out in the tool shed behind the trailer here. I ought to keep this spearhead together with it too. Now there’s a pair of mismatched items!
Exactly where you told me to put it, she says to me, what are your getting senile?
So I say to Phebe You didn’t go tell anyone about this?
She just looks at me like I’m an asshole. If I tell you I’ll keep something secret, you better damn believe that’s what I’m going to do!
Back when I first started getting sick, before we had Cornelius and Maddy move in and take over the operation for me, Phebe was working day and night, milking the cows some days twice a day and then putting in a full shift at the hospital too. One day she went in to work exhausted and injected an old man accidentally with something that ended up killing him. There had been some rumors going around that Phebe was running the farm for me and reporting to work exhausted, so the hospital was nervous about indemnifying her. At some point later Phebe was put under oath in a deposition and she went through a couple hours of questions and denied up and down she had ever worked on the farm before any shift, or that she ever reported to work too tired. With this placed on the record, the hospital continued to stand behind her and moved to settle the matter without much further ado. Everything could have fallen squarely on her shoulders. She pretty much saved the farm. I guess sometimes you have to decide which virtue you’re going to give top billing in life: honesty or loyalty. Don’t know which one a marriage requires most, but I now think I know which one keeping a farm requires most.
I think moral choices must have been easier for people when this Cumberland spearhead was made. All you had to do was keep from starving to death and everything was good---you were a fucking hero!
Where to put this god damn computer disk though where I won’t forget it or where it won’t get stolen? I guess I’ll keep it hidden out in the tool shed behind the trailer here. I ought to keep this spearhead together with it too. Now there’s a pair of mismatched items!
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