Swami Hard Salami called me this morning, asked me to meet him super secretly at his property on Montgomery Street before cricket practice. Seems Swami’s been obsessing on the antique bottles that might be buried in the old outhouse shaft I found on the property. Swami tells me I need to keep the matter a super secret from Percy. He wants me to dig out the shaft before Percy has a chance to get to it, take out any artifacts worth money and put back all the stuff that’s not worth anything to be dug up by Percy and his men’s group later as if for the first time. Swami said he’d pay me based on a percentage of what was found, but then I got worried there might not be anything worth anything there, so I asked to get paid by the hour. Now watch, there’ll be something found worth thousands of dollars. Anyhow, it’ll be nice to have some cash of my own. I’ll start the dig sometime this week if things dry out.
Turns out Cricket practice was rained out. I got time to chat with Fauntleroy for a while, waiting for the rain to end in a baseball dugout. I had the brilliant idea to ask him if he was one of them Rastafarians. He said no, he was one of them Secular Humanists. I have to say I was surprised, I told him I didn’t know Jamaica had Secular Humanists. He said sure, they live with magic elves in the mountain caves, Mon.
The more I learn about cricket the more I think it should just be given up for baseball. Wait, but that’s already been done.
They got more than 11 guys at the moment, so it looks like I’m gonna be a bench warmer. At this point I don’t think I give a shit.
And then I get a fucked up call from Cupid Boy after I got home. He says he went down the lane today looking for me at the Winnebago. Did you and your wife have sex back there or something? Because I found condoms strewn on the ground.
Uhm. . .yeah. . . as I recall that was. . .yeah. . . me and Phebe. . .littering.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Monday, December 26, 2011
4/5/01
Thanks to Phebe half the fucking planet now knows I’m trying to write a novel about her namesake Phebe Reynolds in the Revolutionary War. First it was Percy who found out, and then he must have told Swami Hard Salami. And now even my fucking Probation Officer, Cupid Boy, he fucking knows somehow too.
Good luck, he says. Somehow I doubt you’re gonna become the next Ernest Hemmingway, but anything that preoccupies you from engaging in crime, I’ll have to support it.
I’m thinking Percy must have blabbed it to him. I think Percy feels bad for the guy. Seems like Cupid Boy’s always hanging around Percy’s neighborhood pounding on Cupcake’s door.
I know you’re in there! Why do you do this? Open up!
Percy tells me he takes him inside to quiet things, consoles him with cups of hot tea. What I understand, Percy tried to give the young fucker his honest opinion that he needed to move on, but the guy’s apparently not hearing it. The guy wanted to know if Cupcake’s been at her trailer on my farm anytime.
I think she has a stalker, one of these creep ex-boyfriends. I’m worried about her out alone on your farm on the nature walks she’s been taking there.
Little more than just springtime horniness at play with Cupid Boy, methinks. And people think I’ve lost my mind.
With all these people expecting me now to produce a historical novel about the Revolutionary War I better start working on it. That such activity will also preoccupy me from engaging in crime will surely count as an additional bonus.
Good fucking gracious.
Good luck, he says. Somehow I doubt you’re gonna become the next Ernest Hemmingway, but anything that preoccupies you from engaging in crime, I’ll have to support it.
I’m thinking Percy must have blabbed it to him. I think Percy feels bad for the guy. Seems like Cupid Boy’s always hanging around Percy’s neighborhood pounding on Cupcake’s door.
I know you’re in there! Why do you do this? Open up!
Percy tells me he takes him inside to quiet things, consoles him with cups of hot tea. What I understand, Percy tried to give the young fucker his honest opinion that he needed to move on, but the guy’s apparently not hearing it. The guy wanted to know if Cupcake’s been at her trailer on my farm anytime.
I think she has a stalker, one of these creep ex-boyfriends. I’m worried about her out alone on your farm on the nature walks she’s been taking there.
Little more than just springtime horniness at play with Cupid Boy, methinks. And people think I’ve lost my mind.
With all these people expecting me now to produce a historical novel about the Revolutionary War I better start working on it. That such activity will also preoccupy me from engaging in crime will surely count as an additional bonus.
Good fucking gracious.
4/4/01
Phebe shared with Percy at some point recently that I’m writing a book based on her namesake, Phebe Reynolds. Percy was against the idea of taking liberties with her life story. He said at the very least I should provide some non-fiction historical account of Phebe Reynolds to go along with the fiction so people can see the difference. So he emailed me the chapter Philip H. Smith wrote in Legends of the Shawangunk. I figure I might as well add it in to this mess. Here it is:
Man is largely a creature of circumstances. Whatever may be his natural endowments we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that his character is moulded by his surroundings. The girl that has been reared in luxury and ease, the subject of assiduous care as though she were a tender and volatile plant, will acquire a softness and effeminacy that will lead her to lose self-control upon the slightest occasion. Her less-favored sister, born with like endowments, but who has been brought up amid the hardships and dangers of frontier life, when her fortitude is put to the test, will be found capable of performing acts of heroism that will put many of the lords of creation to shame. Among all the heroines of the border, whose deeds of hardihood and self-denial have been put on record, there will be found not one excelling in the sublimer virtues the subject of this sketch.
Phebe Reynolds was the daughter of Henry Reynolds, and one of a large family of children. They were residing, at the time of the Revolution, in a log cabin in the present town of Monroe, within the region of country infested by the notorious Claudius Smith band of outlaws. One night the gang surrounded Reynolds' cabin with purpose to effect an entrance, but found the windows and doors securely barred and bolted. They next mounted the roof, and two or three essayed to drop down the wide-mouthed chimney; one of the family poured the contents of a feather-bed upon the fire, and the robbers were forced to beat a retreat to escape suffocation.
Some time afterward a second attempt was made with a different result. Benjamin Kelley and Philip Roblin, both of whom were near neighbors of Reynolds, together with several others, went to Reynolds' house one dark night, and knocked for admission, representing themselves to be a detachment of the American army in search of deserters. After hurriedly dressing himself Reynolds opened the door, and then went to the fireplace to procure a light. While his back was turned to his visitors one of them struck him with the fiat side of his sword, and told him to make haste. This at once revealed the character of his guests. He made a rush for the door, but just outside stumbled over a log, and fell headlong. Ere he could recover himself the gang were upon him, and he was dragged back into the house.
When the struggle began, Reynolds called loudly for his son, then a mere lad, to come to his assistance. When the boy came into the room, one of the men seized him, set him down upon the floor, and told him if he moved even so much as to turn his head right or left, he would cut it off. This so terrified the boy that he sat as motionless as if he had been carved in stone. Mrs. Reynolds, accompanied by some of the other children, now came into the apartment; when she saw her husband in the hands of ruffians, she fell upon the floor in convulsions; and it is believed she remained unconscious through most of the ensuing strife.
After binding Reynolds, and wounding him with their knives and swords, they, in the presence of his family, proceeded to hang him on the trammel-pole of his fire-place. Having accomplished this, the members of the gang dispersed through the several rooms and commenced plundering, leaving him, as they supposed, in the throes of death.
At this time Phebe Reynolds was twelve years old, but large and robust for one of her age. She had become inured to the dangers and terrors of border life, and was resolute and fearless, particularly when her blood was up. Taking advantage of their temporary absence, Phebe caught up a knife and hastily cut the rope by which her father was suspended. She also threw the noose from his neck and managed to get him upon a bed.
It was not long before the ruffians discovered what had been done, and again they gathered in the room to murder Reynolds. The girl boldly confronted them with her knife, like a lioness at bay. They commanded her to go away, threatening her with instant death if she refused. She declared she did not wish to live if they murdered her father. They then menaced her with swords and knives; still she stood her ground courageously. Finding them determined to murder her father, she sprang upon the bed, clasped her hands tightly around him, and attempted thus to shield him from their bloody instruments. One of the men then took the rope and cruelly beat the girl; but she did not even moan, or wince, although she was marked from head to foot with broad, angry stripes.
Finding this to be of no avail, the marauders forcibly tore her away, and once more Mr. Reynolds was left hanging to the trammel-pole, while they resumed their work of plundering the house.
Again did the heroic daughter cut the rope, and was leading her father to another room, when his strength gave out, and he sank upon the floor. Again did the wretches discover what had been done, and they attacked him with their knives and swords as he lay upon the floor, and once more the brave daughter threw herself upon him, and endeavored to protect him; receiving on her own person many of the blows that were intended for him. In short, her clothing was saturated with the blood flowing from numerous cuts in her forehead and breast. Finally the robbers threw Mr. Reynolds into an old chest, and, shutting down the lid, they left the place, first destroying his private papers and setting fire to the house. They also rolled a large stone against the door, which opened outward, and told them they would shoot the first one that dared to raise the latch, with the design that the whole family should be burned up with the house.
Phebe now made her way to the chest, and, raising the lid, found her father, stiff and rigid, and apparently dead. With such help as her mother and the lad could give, the body of her father was lifted from the chest, and while this was being done, a low moan escaped his lips. She immediately pried open his teeth with a pewter spoon, and gave him a few drops of water. This seemed to revive him, and she gave him more while she proceeded to staunch the blood that was flowing from his wounds.
While thus occupied her mother was moaning and wandering aimlessly from room to room, and presently she noticed that a bed, a hogshead of flax, and some other inflammable material were on fire. The mother, appalled at this discovery, cried out, “Oh, Phebe, the house is on fire in three places!” “Why don't you put it out?” demanded the daughter. “Oh, I can't,” was the dismayed reply, “if it burns down over our heads!” “Then come and take care of father and let me do it.” The brave girl promptly dashed water on the burning beds, threw a drenched rug over the flax, and went back to her father.
While engaged in dressing his wounds, she told the lad to go out and alarm the neighborhood; but the boy did not dare to leave the house. She then, after doing all she could for the safety and comfort of her father, set out upon the errand herself. Although her person was covered with cuts and wounds, her clothing saturated with her own blood, and she had passed through a scene of terror such as few could have had the fortitude to face, yet she was so cool and collected that she noticed the crowing of cocks in the neighborhood as she passed along the road, and knew that morning was near.
The alarm spread from house to house. A body of men immediately assembled, and shortly after sunrise started in pursuit of the ruffians. The latter were followed into their retreat in the mountains with such energy that they were taken by surprise and four or five of them were killed. One of the killed was Kelley, the leader of the gang, who resided within a mile of Reynolds's house, and had passed for a Whig. He was shot by a young named June, who knew Kelley personally. It appears that June had been informed the robbers were at a certain place playing cards. When he approached their hiding place they heard him coming, and rose to their feet. As they did so, he fired into their midst; the shot mortally wounded Kelley, whose body was afterward found at a sulphur spring to which he had wandered and died. The remains were partially covered up with leaves and brush, and near by was the wedding suit of Henry Reynolds, tied up with a bark string. This suit Mr. Reynolds had preserved over fourteen years; yet he expressed a wish never to wear or see the clothes again since they had been on the back of a Tory. Only two of the ruffians escaped, and they were afterwards arrested in New Jersey. Reynolds would not consent to appear against them, probably on account of his Quaker principles.
While some of the neighbors were pursuing the marauders, others, including the physicians of the town, were attending to the injuries of the family. Reynolds, it was found, had been cut and stabbed in more than thirty places. An ear had been so nearly severed that it hung down on his shoulder. It was replaced as well as circumstances would admit, but the wound healed in such a way as to disfigure him for life. One of his hands was cut so badly that he never afterwards fully recovered its use.
For weeks Reynolds was on the brink of the grave; but he possessed a strong constitution, fortified by a life of temperance and regular habits, and he was once more restored to health. His wounds so completely covered his person that, as he lay bandaged, he more resembled an Egyptian mummy than anything else. His neighbors were very kind to him; they cut his wheat, gathered his hay, and even provided for his family.
When the physicians turned their attention to Phebe, it was found that the wounds on her forehead and breast were of a serious nature, and that her body and limbs were badly bruised and lacerated. Whenever she came within her father's sight, her bruised and bandaged appearance so affected him, that the physicians directed that she should not be allowed to come in his room; and instead of exacting fees for their attendance, the physicians filled Phebe's hands with coin.
Soon after this event Henry Reynolds removed to Sullivan county, where he lived to a good old age, greatly respected by all who knew him. There are people still living in Fallsburg and Neversink who have heard the facts related by Henry Reynolds himself as he exhibited his scars. Phebe became the wife of Jeremiah Drake, of Neversink Flats, and died in November, 1853; her remains repose in the little burial-ground, near those of her husband. Her posterity are among the most highly honored residents of the Neversink valley. One hundred years after the marriage of Henry Reynolds, says Quinlan, it is estimated that his descendants numbered upwards of one thousand.
---Philip H. Smith, 1887
Man is largely a creature of circumstances. Whatever may be his natural endowments we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that his character is moulded by his surroundings. The girl that has been reared in luxury and ease, the subject of assiduous care as though she were a tender and volatile plant, will acquire a softness and effeminacy that will lead her to lose self-control upon the slightest occasion. Her less-favored sister, born with like endowments, but who has been brought up amid the hardships and dangers of frontier life, when her fortitude is put to the test, will be found capable of performing acts of heroism that will put many of the lords of creation to shame. Among all the heroines of the border, whose deeds of hardihood and self-denial have been put on record, there will be found not one excelling in the sublimer virtues the subject of this sketch.
Phebe Reynolds was the daughter of Henry Reynolds, and one of a large family of children. They were residing, at the time of the Revolution, in a log cabin in the present town of Monroe, within the region of country infested by the notorious Claudius Smith band of outlaws. One night the gang surrounded Reynolds' cabin with purpose to effect an entrance, but found the windows and doors securely barred and bolted. They next mounted the roof, and two or three essayed to drop down the wide-mouthed chimney; one of the family poured the contents of a feather-bed upon the fire, and the robbers were forced to beat a retreat to escape suffocation.
Some time afterward a second attempt was made with a different result. Benjamin Kelley and Philip Roblin, both of whom were near neighbors of Reynolds, together with several others, went to Reynolds' house one dark night, and knocked for admission, representing themselves to be a detachment of the American army in search of deserters. After hurriedly dressing himself Reynolds opened the door, and then went to the fireplace to procure a light. While his back was turned to his visitors one of them struck him with the fiat side of his sword, and told him to make haste. This at once revealed the character of his guests. He made a rush for the door, but just outside stumbled over a log, and fell headlong. Ere he could recover himself the gang were upon him, and he was dragged back into the house.
When the struggle began, Reynolds called loudly for his son, then a mere lad, to come to his assistance. When the boy came into the room, one of the men seized him, set him down upon the floor, and told him if he moved even so much as to turn his head right or left, he would cut it off. This so terrified the boy that he sat as motionless as if he had been carved in stone. Mrs. Reynolds, accompanied by some of the other children, now came into the apartment; when she saw her husband in the hands of ruffians, she fell upon the floor in convulsions; and it is believed she remained unconscious through most of the ensuing strife.
After binding Reynolds, and wounding him with their knives and swords, they, in the presence of his family, proceeded to hang him on the trammel-pole of his fire-place. Having accomplished this, the members of the gang dispersed through the several rooms and commenced plundering, leaving him, as they supposed, in the throes of death.
At this time Phebe Reynolds was twelve years old, but large and robust for one of her age. She had become inured to the dangers and terrors of border life, and was resolute and fearless, particularly when her blood was up. Taking advantage of their temporary absence, Phebe caught up a knife and hastily cut the rope by which her father was suspended. She also threw the noose from his neck and managed to get him upon a bed.
It was not long before the ruffians discovered what had been done, and again they gathered in the room to murder Reynolds. The girl boldly confronted them with her knife, like a lioness at bay. They commanded her to go away, threatening her with instant death if she refused. She declared she did not wish to live if they murdered her father. They then menaced her with swords and knives; still she stood her ground courageously. Finding them determined to murder her father, she sprang upon the bed, clasped her hands tightly around him, and attempted thus to shield him from their bloody instruments. One of the men then took the rope and cruelly beat the girl; but she did not even moan, or wince, although she was marked from head to foot with broad, angry stripes.
Finding this to be of no avail, the marauders forcibly tore her away, and once more Mr. Reynolds was left hanging to the trammel-pole, while they resumed their work of plundering the house.
Again did the heroic daughter cut the rope, and was leading her father to another room, when his strength gave out, and he sank upon the floor. Again did the wretches discover what had been done, and they attacked him with their knives and swords as he lay upon the floor, and once more the brave daughter threw herself upon him, and endeavored to protect him; receiving on her own person many of the blows that were intended for him. In short, her clothing was saturated with the blood flowing from numerous cuts in her forehead and breast. Finally the robbers threw Mr. Reynolds into an old chest, and, shutting down the lid, they left the place, first destroying his private papers and setting fire to the house. They also rolled a large stone against the door, which opened outward, and told them they would shoot the first one that dared to raise the latch, with the design that the whole family should be burned up with the house.
Phebe now made her way to the chest, and, raising the lid, found her father, stiff and rigid, and apparently dead. With such help as her mother and the lad could give, the body of her father was lifted from the chest, and while this was being done, a low moan escaped his lips. She immediately pried open his teeth with a pewter spoon, and gave him a few drops of water. This seemed to revive him, and she gave him more while she proceeded to staunch the blood that was flowing from his wounds.
While thus occupied her mother was moaning and wandering aimlessly from room to room, and presently she noticed that a bed, a hogshead of flax, and some other inflammable material were on fire. The mother, appalled at this discovery, cried out, “Oh, Phebe, the house is on fire in three places!” “Why don't you put it out?” demanded the daughter. “Oh, I can't,” was the dismayed reply, “if it burns down over our heads!” “Then come and take care of father and let me do it.” The brave girl promptly dashed water on the burning beds, threw a drenched rug over the flax, and went back to her father.
While engaged in dressing his wounds, she told the lad to go out and alarm the neighborhood; but the boy did not dare to leave the house. She then, after doing all she could for the safety and comfort of her father, set out upon the errand herself. Although her person was covered with cuts and wounds, her clothing saturated with her own blood, and she had passed through a scene of terror such as few could have had the fortitude to face, yet she was so cool and collected that she noticed the crowing of cocks in the neighborhood as she passed along the road, and knew that morning was near.
The alarm spread from house to house. A body of men immediately assembled, and shortly after sunrise started in pursuit of the ruffians. The latter were followed into their retreat in the mountains with such energy that they were taken by surprise and four or five of them were killed. One of the killed was Kelley, the leader of the gang, who resided within a mile of Reynolds's house, and had passed for a Whig. He was shot by a young named June, who knew Kelley personally. It appears that June had been informed the robbers were at a certain place playing cards. When he approached their hiding place they heard him coming, and rose to their feet. As they did so, he fired into their midst; the shot mortally wounded Kelley, whose body was afterward found at a sulphur spring to which he had wandered and died. The remains were partially covered up with leaves and brush, and near by was the wedding suit of Henry Reynolds, tied up with a bark string. This suit Mr. Reynolds had preserved over fourteen years; yet he expressed a wish never to wear or see the clothes again since they had been on the back of a Tory. Only two of the ruffians escaped, and they were afterwards arrested in New Jersey. Reynolds would not consent to appear against them, probably on account of his Quaker principles.
While some of the neighbors were pursuing the marauders, others, including the physicians of the town, were attending to the injuries of the family. Reynolds, it was found, had been cut and stabbed in more than thirty places. An ear had been so nearly severed that it hung down on his shoulder. It was replaced as well as circumstances would admit, but the wound healed in such a way as to disfigure him for life. One of his hands was cut so badly that he never afterwards fully recovered its use.
For weeks Reynolds was on the brink of the grave; but he possessed a strong constitution, fortified by a life of temperance and regular habits, and he was once more restored to health. His wounds so completely covered his person that, as he lay bandaged, he more resembled an Egyptian mummy than anything else. His neighbors were very kind to him; they cut his wheat, gathered his hay, and even provided for his family.
When the physicians turned their attention to Phebe, it was found that the wounds on her forehead and breast were of a serious nature, and that her body and limbs were badly bruised and lacerated. Whenever she came within her father's sight, her bruised and bandaged appearance so affected him, that the physicians directed that she should not be allowed to come in his room; and instead of exacting fees for their attendance, the physicians filled Phebe's hands with coin.
Soon after this event Henry Reynolds removed to Sullivan county, where he lived to a good old age, greatly respected by all who knew him. There are people still living in Fallsburg and Neversink who have heard the facts related by Henry Reynolds himself as he exhibited his scars. Phebe became the wife of Jeremiah Drake, of Neversink Flats, and died in November, 1853; her remains repose in the little burial-ground, near those of her husband. Her posterity are among the most highly honored residents of the Neversink valley. One hundred years after the marriage of Henry Reynolds, says Quinlan, it is estimated that his descendants numbered upwards of one thousand.
---Philip H. Smith, 1887
4/3/01
Phebe took the baby up to the prison today. I spent the time at home resting. Had this weird dream I had Probation Officer Barbie again and she asked me on reporting day if I’d shoot her husband for her. That was sure weird, because in the dream I wasn’t exactly objecting. I know there was some dirty talk involved. I’m not exactly sure the words now because Percy woke me up at that point with a phone call, asked how my head felt, said he understood perfectly if I didn’t want to play on the team anymore. Said I didn’t have to worry about disappointing him.
I’m not quiting the team, I say, me and Fauntleroy are a pockidge deal, Mon.
And then an hour later Swami Hard Salami stopped by. Said he wanted to see how I was doing with my concussion . . .also wanted to know whether I had reconsidered his $800,000 offer to buy the farm. Now there’s a concerned doctor for you still willing to do house calls.
I didn’t hit my head that hard! I say.
Fucker.
He said he has work for me tomorrow if I feel up to it. Said he would tutor me a little bit on cricket before practice. I may need to rename him Gandhi or something.
After he leaves I go back to the house for more rest, but then I hear a car drive onto the place and down the lane toward the trailer. I hike back there, spy through the trees and find Cupcake and this young guy I remember from Percy’s neighborhood hanging out at the Winnebago smoking a joint. I had in mind to tell them to get the hell out of there, but I held back for some reason. Looked like they were on the verge of getting it on. I felt like an intruder for some reason.
When Phebe got home I banged her hard.
Maybe I did hit my head that hard.
I’m not quiting the team, I say, me and Fauntleroy are a pockidge deal, Mon.
And then an hour later Swami Hard Salami stopped by. Said he wanted to see how I was doing with my concussion . . .also wanted to know whether I had reconsidered his $800,000 offer to buy the farm. Now there’s a concerned doctor for you still willing to do house calls.
I didn’t hit my head that hard! I say.
Fucker.
He said he has work for me tomorrow if I feel up to it. Said he would tutor me a little bit on cricket before practice. I may need to rename him Gandhi or something.
After he leaves I go back to the house for more rest, but then I hear a car drive onto the place and down the lane toward the trailer. I hike back there, spy through the trees and find Cupcake and this young guy I remember from Percy’s neighborhood hanging out at the Winnebago smoking a joint. I had in mind to tell them to get the hell out of there, but I held back for some reason. Looked like they were on the verge of getting it on. I felt like an intruder for some reason.
When Phebe got home I banged her hard.
Maybe I did hit my head that hard.
4/2/01
I was heading to Newburgh for cricket practice yesterday and I noticed a car following me. Looked just like the one the Mafia guy was driving when he stopped by over the Winter and tried to shake me down for money with threats to Rocky in jail. I got to the park and started exercising with the guys and I noticed the car again in the parking lot near my truck. I noticed the guy looking out towards the team, just kind of stalking me. I was already feeling anxious. I had no idea who most of the guys on the team were. Lots of foreign accents all around. The team then started to do a jog. I was thinking Percy and I must be the only white guys. I know I’m really the only dumpy guy. I know I’m the only one who’s never played cricket before. I was worried as we jogged I was gonna have a heart attack or something I’m so fucking out of shape. Haven’t had a herd of cows to chase around in years. I was looking over at the Mafia guy not looking where I was running and I ran right into a metal pole. Must have been part of a soccer goal post or something. I lost consciousness for a little bit. Someone called an ambulance. Swami Hard Salami followed me over to the emergency room. Phebe showed up before long. I kept telling people I was distracted by the guy who was following me around, the Mafia guy spying on me from the parking lot. Everyone just kept saying the Mafia guy following me was just part of the experience of getting a concussion.
He’s real! The mafia guy is real! He’s been following me around all day!
At the time I was pissed off no one believed what I was saying, but I’m glad now Swami thought I was seeing things because I hit my head, not because I’m a nut. I’m not even sure now what to think.
You must think of your brain in this instance as a pickled cabbage in a jar--- a pickled cabbage that has been hurled most violently, inexorably, from one side of the jar to the other. And so as the cabbage has been---forgive my pun---JARRED most suddenly and bruised, it is not uncommon that hallucinations would occur.
Hallucinations to the cabbage?
Ha! Precisely!
He’s real! The mafia guy is real! He’s been following me around all day!
At the time I was pissed off no one believed what I was saying, but I’m glad now Swami thought I was seeing things because I hit my head, not because I’m a nut. I’m not even sure now what to think.
You must think of your brain in this instance as a pickled cabbage in a jar--- a pickled cabbage that has been hurled most violently, inexorably, from one side of the jar to the other. And so as the cabbage has been---forgive my pun---JARRED most suddenly and bruised, it is not uncommon that hallucinations would occur.
Hallucinations to the cabbage?
Ha! Precisely!
3/31/01
I ended up staying home from cricket practice yesterday. After that kid came around snooping I felt like I had taken a hoof to the abdomen. I called Percy and told him I wasn’t feeling well.
It’s all right Joe, Percy says, I can tell you really don’t want to be on the team. I’ll take you off the roster.
No, no, I reply, feeling again like I have to stay on the team if only to defy Percy’s desire to keep me off, you keep me on the roster. I’ll be there next time.
I just kept thinking how stupid I was staying quiet about Porch Rot filling in that old well on his farm, buying that story of his. I’m wondering now if the guy could have been a freaking serial killer or something. He wasn’t the dumb ass after all---I was. Asshole Redneck Detective, indeed. I’m wondering now if there was more to the story about Mexican Mike. The guy supposedly dies by accident on Porch Rot’s farm and days later Porch Rot is making moves on his woman? Maybe that slip into the shit lagoon wasn’t what it seemed, you know?
And then I keep thinking about my father’s accident, getting caught up in the PTO shaft of the shit spreader. In reality that could have been staged. There could have been motives behind it.
And then the loose bull even. . .sickening to think. . .
And then, maybe not. . .April fools.
It’s all right Joe, Percy says, I can tell you really don’t want to be on the team. I’ll take you off the roster.
No, no, I reply, feeling again like I have to stay on the team if only to defy Percy’s desire to keep me off, you keep me on the roster. I’ll be there next time.
I just kept thinking how stupid I was staying quiet about Porch Rot filling in that old well on his farm, buying that story of his. I’m wondering now if the guy could have been a freaking serial killer or something. He wasn’t the dumb ass after all---I was. Asshole Redneck Detective, indeed. I’m wondering now if there was more to the story about Mexican Mike. The guy supposedly dies by accident on Porch Rot’s farm and days later Porch Rot is making moves on his woman? Maybe that slip into the shit lagoon wasn’t what it seemed, you know?
And then I keep thinking about my father’s accident, getting caught up in the PTO shaft of the shit spreader. In reality that could have been staged. There could have been motives behind it.
And then the loose bull even. . .sickening to think. . .
And then, maybe not. . .April fools.
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