Phebe’s pushing hard for me to do something about Cupcake’s trailer. She said as long as it belongs to someone else, she doesn’t want it on the farm.
If someone moved into that thing, she says, and you didn’t get them out right away, they’d have squatter’s rights.
And then Phebe surprises me, floats the idea of buying the thing:
We do have an insurance check coming to cover the loss of the other trailer, she says, and it would be nice to do some traveling someday.
I imagined her going on to say: and it would be nice to a have a place to exile your ass again out back when you get on my last nerve.
As tough as it was to live out there in the Winter, I kinda miss the seclusion. To go back there to camp in the nice weather might be a real treat. Don’t know how keen Cupcake is on selling though. . .
So I guess there was a cricket practice today. I didn’t know about it because Percy never made me aware. The fucker. I guess Fauntleroy put his arthritic foot down again, told Percy again that, Joseph and I, we are a Pockidge deal, Mon. Percy called me just before and listed some websites where I could study how cricket is played. He said I had to take it seriously to avoid being cut from the team. I did a little poking around on the internet but it looked like some crazy ass shit that didn’t make sense.
Swami Hard Salami called too. He’s all psyched up to get back into cricket. He was happy to hear I was on the team, said he has some jobs for me when I’m out that way. Goodie. Said his offer of $800,000 for the farm was still good if I ever reconsider.
No!
Phebe just looked over my shoulder before. I wasn’t aware at first.
That doesn’t look like a story about the Revolutionary War, she says.
I’d prove you wrong, but that would disrupt the creative process, I say.
I’m such an asshole.
I really have to be careful not to leave a way for her to sneak and read this shit.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
03/27/01
Back to watching the baby today. Phebe’s back at work. She’s plenty pissed at me for taking off yesterday, and then showing up later with Cupcake and her junky Winnebago to drag down the lane and dump off at the edge of Purgatory Swamp.
I find it real interesting, Phebe says, here you got all this talk of selling the place, and yet you let that girl dump a trailer on the place, junking up the place more than it already is.
I’ve been thinking a lot today about my lousy detective work. All this time Porch Rot had me believing it was Phil that was buried in the well. He did such a good job convincing me to stay quiet about it. And here the whole time he was covering up for the girl’s death--- whether it was Porch Rot or Phil who was responsible, I guess we may never know. I was thinking maybe Porch Rot wasn’t quite the dumb fucker I thought he was. He sure pulled off a good acting job. Who knew he had it in him? I’m still not sure which theory I favor more, the one that proposes that Phil Palfrey was the one who dumped the body, or the one that proposes that Porch Rot did. Then you have all these various scenarios related to the cause of death. Phil’s the only person left who might be able to shed light on things but I guess you really can’t assume he’s still alive.
I suppose at some point the forensics will come back from the girl’s remains and maybe they’ll know a little more about how she died.
Today would be a good day to get going on my Phebe Reynolds story, but I just spent the whole time the baby was down for a nap running Phil Palfrey’s name in a search engine. I guess maybe I’m like old Percy, using too much of my left brain.
I’m pretty sure the only reason the police went looking into that well was Stash Skimington tipping them off. No one has confirmed shit with me though but I can only think the tip came from Stash reading my shit that time.
I just keep thinking about what would have happened if I had followed through with trying to dig up Phil from the well to relocate him. I’d probably be facing life in prison. Good thing the frost was still in the ground. One time when Winter proved fortunate I guess.
I find it real interesting, Phebe says, here you got all this talk of selling the place, and yet you let that girl dump a trailer on the place, junking up the place more than it already is.
I’ve been thinking a lot today about my lousy detective work. All this time Porch Rot had me believing it was Phil that was buried in the well. He did such a good job convincing me to stay quiet about it. And here the whole time he was covering up for the girl’s death--- whether it was Porch Rot or Phil who was responsible, I guess we may never know. I was thinking maybe Porch Rot wasn’t quite the dumb fucker I thought he was. He sure pulled off a good acting job. Who knew he had it in him? I’m still not sure which theory I favor more, the one that proposes that Phil Palfrey was the one who dumped the body, or the one that proposes that Porch Rot did. Then you have all these various scenarios related to the cause of death. Phil’s the only person left who might be able to shed light on things but I guess you really can’t assume he’s still alive.
I suppose at some point the forensics will come back from the girl’s remains and maybe they’ll know a little more about how she died.
Today would be a good day to get going on my Phebe Reynolds story, but I just spent the whole time the baby was down for a nap running Phil Palfrey’s name in a search engine. I guess maybe I’m like old Percy, using too much of my left brain.
I’m pretty sure the only reason the police went looking into that well was Stash Skimington tipping them off. No one has confirmed shit with me though but I can only think the tip came from Stash reading my shit that time.
I just keep thinking about what would have happened if I had followed through with trying to dig up Phil from the well to relocate him. I’d probably be facing life in prison. Good thing the frost was still in the ground. One time when Winter proved fortunate I guess.
03/26/01
Phebe and I had a big blowout argument after the call from the coroner. I still don’t know why it was so important for her to share the family dirt the way that she did. She said people already know the family dirt anyway. I said that just wasn’t true. She said I live in denial about most everything. It’s like it’s some kind of kick to her to share with the world how fucked up we are. She’s the fucking reason people know the dirt! I slept on the couch. Left the house early. I was supposed to report to probation but made a wrong turn like that guy in the Bruce Springsteen song and just kept goin’. Went to fucking Albany. Sat in the parking lot of the State Police Academy waited to see if I could see anything of my daughter. Thought better of the whole thing though when I started attracting attention of all those cops coming in and out of the place all the time. So I head home on the Thruway and who do I find stranded between the Kingston and New Paltz exits but Cupid Boy and Cupcake and the Fuckmobile Winnebago that Cupcake needed to get moved. Dumb ass that I am, I pull over in the breakdown lane. Nothing was done to fix the fucking radiator that I could tell. The thing drained out and overheated. Winnebago was now hitched to a big tow rig. I apologized to Cupid Boy for missing reporting. He said as I could see he was playing hooky too.
How bout you let us keep this parked at your farm, he says.
Now I got the Fuckmobile parked out back next to the burned up trailer. What the fuck am I going to say to the guy? No?
How bout you let us keep this parked at your farm, he says.
Now I got the Fuckmobile parked out back next to the burned up trailer. What the fuck am I going to say to the guy? No?
Saturday, October 15, 2011
03/24/01
I guess I’m crazy. Phebe was home from work today to be with the baby. First thing in the morning there’s this call. Phebe says it’s Dr. Hardik. She thinks the call is for an appointment. Swami says he’ll pay me a hundred dollars if I show up with my truck in Newburgh to dispense refuse posthaste. So I spent most of the day throwing out the contents of one of Swami’s vacated apartments. Lots of broken furniture full of roaches. This surly dude climbed into the bed of my truck at one point and began slicing open a soiled mattress until he found a plastic bag of what I’m guessing was crack cocaine stashed inside. He got what he wanted I guess. Left me alone. I was plenty scared though, thought I’d shit my pants. On the way to the dump I drove along the river, noticed police activity along the river bank.
Looking out across Newburgh Bay I got to thinking a little about the Phebe Reynolds story I’m supposed to writing. I was thinking how impressive it was for the Continental Army to float a great chain across the Hudson on logs the way they did at that spot. That wouldn’t be so easy to do today either even with our technology. Suppose you could have the chain links float on top a line of soiled mattresses cleaned out of Dr. Hardik’s vacated apartments spanning clear across to Beacon.
Later I heard on the radio the body of an unidentified male was pulled from the river. Maybe they found Porch Rot.
Looking out across Newburgh Bay I got to thinking a little about the Phebe Reynolds story I’m supposed to writing. I was thinking how impressive it was for the Continental Army to float a great chain across the Hudson on logs the way they did at that spot. That wouldn’t be so easy to do today either even with our technology. Suppose you could have the chain links float on top a line of soiled mattresses cleaned out of Dr. Hardik’s vacated apartments spanning clear across to Beacon.
Later I heard on the radio the body of an unidentified male was pulled from the river. Maybe they found Porch Rot.
03/23/01
I asked Swami yesterday how Cornelius was doing. He said he didn’t know. I guess Cornelius cussed him out and walked off the job some time recently.
So much for Cornelius being rewarded by Swami for his steadfast service with his own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden.
Maybe you would like to take over his position, Swami says to me to my astonishment.
I don’t know why, but my reply of ‘no’ came after some hesitation. Phebe’s got me housebound with the care of the baby most days. I practically have to beg for pocket money from her. Somehow the thought of a job--- my own way of making money apart from hauling scrap metal to Middletown--- seemed attractive at that moment even while knowing the job involved servitude to an asshole slumlord. All I ask is to have some time outside of the house once in a while and some money of my own in my pocket. Is that too much to ask, Phebe?
I’m becoming Betty Fucking Crocker.
I’ve been letting Phebe handle all the communication with Rocky’s lawyer. I haven’t really been able to face it. I just have these depressing thoughts that Rocky will either be killed in prison or I’ll be dead before he ever gets out---that we’ll never walk together again in freedom. Not to say we ever got along very well before that we took walks together, but you know what I mean. There’s no happy outcome that I can see. From what I can gather from Phebe it looks like they’re working on a plea deal for Rocky to admit to manslaughter with a certain number of years added on to his sentence.
The idea of me possibly being Mookie’s main father-figure growing up seems way too screwed up to me.
So much for Cornelius being rewarded by Swami for his steadfast service with his own lush riparian oasis of the proportion of Eden.
Maybe you would like to take over his position, Swami says to me to my astonishment.
I don’t know why, but my reply of ‘no’ came after some hesitation. Phebe’s got me housebound with the care of the baby most days. I practically have to beg for pocket money from her. Somehow the thought of a job--- my own way of making money apart from hauling scrap metal to Middletown--- seemed attractive at that moment even while knowing the job involved servitude to an asshole slumlord. All I ask is to have some time outside of the house once in a while and some money of my own in my pocket. Is that too much to ask, Phebe?
I’m becoming Betty Fucking Crocker.
I’ve been letting Phebe handle all the communication with Rocky’s lawyer. I haven’t really been able to face it. I just have these depressing thoughts that Rocky will either be killed in prison or I’ll be dead before he ever gets out---that we’ll never walk together again in freedom. Not to say we ever got along very well before that we took walks together, but you know what I mean. There’s no happy outcome that I can see. From what I can gather from Phebe it looks like they’re working on a plea deal for Rocky to admit to manslaughter with a certain number of years added on to his sentence.
The idea of me possibly being Mookie’s main father-figure growing up seems way too screwed up to me.
03/22/01
Percy drove me and the baby back to Newburgh today to see Betty and Fauntleroy. Percy was happy to talk over a practice schedule with Fauntleroy for the cricket team. At one point Fauntleroy asked me what position I was going to play on the team. I said as far as I was aware I wasn’t on the team.
And then Fauntleroy says to Percy: No, no, Mon! Me and Joseph are a pockidge! I will only play on the team if Joseph plays. We are a pockidge deal, Mon!
I told Fauntleroy I didn’t know a thing about the game. He told me not to worry, that he would be the captain and he would let me know what to do.
Percy is like: But I thought I would be the captain. . .
No Mon.
Apparently Betty’s daughter got out of jail somehow. I asked Betty where she was. She says with half her face slackened: The hell if I know!
I managed to get seen by Swami Hard Salami while I was out that way.
Percy tried to complain to Swami about Fauntleroy taking over as captain of the team.
Of course he should be captain, Swami says with blunt cruelty, your breadth of experience in cricket is quite miniscule and inconsequential while Fauntleroy’s is very, very substantial. There is literally no comparison!
Swami asked me if I was still having delusions that my farm property was worth 5 million dollars. He wrote me out a new script for anti-depressants. At least now on paper I’m back in compliance with my probation terms. Don’t delude yourself into thinking I’ll actually be taking those damn pills though.
And then Fauntleroy says to Percy: No, no, Mon! Me and Joseph are a pockidge! I will only play on the team if Joseph plays. We are a pockidge deal, Mon!
I told Fauntleroy I didn’t know a thing about the game. He told me not to worry, that he would be the captain and he would let me know what to do.
Percy is like: But I thought I would be the captain. . .
No Mon.
Apparently Betty’s daughter got out of jail somehow. I asked Betty where she was. She says with half her face slackened: The hell if I know!
I managed to get seen by Swami Hard Salami while I was out that way.
Percy tried to complain to Swami about Fauntleroy taking over as captain of the team.
Of course he should be captain, Swami says with blunt cruelty, your breadth of experience in cricket is quite miniscule and inconsequential while Fauntleroy’s is very, very substantial. There is literally no comparison!
Swami asked me if I was still having delusions that my farm property was worth 5 million dollars. He wrote me out a new script for anti-depressants. At least now on paper I’m back in compliance with my probation terms. Don’t delude yourself into thinking I’ll actually be taking those damn pills though.
03/21/01
Before I even had a chance to call Dr. Hardik this morning to reschedule an appointment with him I found him standing at my door. It was first thing in the morning. Percy brought him over.
The tract is in dire need, Swami Hard Salami says, so desolate! But development would not be impossible! I would imagine all this land would perk well on these elevated areas, although those lower areas may not. Your street could be cut in right about here. Or here through where the house is. It is so lamentable you have such unrealistic ideas about price! I could have $800,000 in your pocket for this place, posthaste. I am very serious about that. You should seriously consider! $800,000 is a very reasonable and appropriate sum! Very reasonable and appropriate!
Percy’s wasn’t expecting all this real estate business. His only interest was in getting me take him and Swami to see Fauntleroy to recruit Fauntleroy for the cricket team. I guess Percy wasn’t aware that Swami had promised to stop by the farm to see it when the weather got better. My main interest in the whole thing was getting something in writing from Swami to give to Cupid Boy that said I didn’t need to be on medication anymore, but Swami quickly seized upon my request as leverage in his deal making.
If you are telling me this clapped out dairy is worth 5 million dollars in this current state than most certainly you are delusional and in need of administration of medication. Conversely, if you told me you would accept $850,000 for the property--- which I would say is a very reasonable and appropriate offer---then one may feel comfortable enough with the progress of the depressive episode to recommend the end of the medication regime.
Well, that didn’t get anywhere. Apparently I’m still profoundly delusional.
Fauntleroy said yes to playing on the team. He looked in pretty rough shape though. When he stood up, sounded like a dozen bones cracking at once.
Betty’s looking in pretty rough shape too. They were disappointed I didn’t bring the baby over. Baby stayed with Phebe. I’ll have to go back soon. Betty said her daughter’s in jail in Goshen right now. She asked if I had any money to get her out. I told her no. She looked at me like she didn’t believe me.
The tract is in dire need, Swami Hard Salami says, so desolate! But development would not be impossible! I would imagine all this land would perk well on these elevated areas, although those lower areas may not. Your street could be cut in right about here. Or here through where the house is. It is so lamentable you have such unrealistic ideas about price! I could have $800,000 in your pocket for this place, posthaste. I am very serious about that. You should seriously consider! $800,000 is a very reasonable and appropriate sum! Very reasonable and appropriate!
Percy’s wasn’t expecting all this real estate business. His only interest was in getting me take him and Swami to see Fauntleroy to recruit Fauntleroy for the cricket team. I guess Percy wasn’t aware that Swami had promised to stop by the farm to see it when the weather got better. My main interest in the whole thing was getting something in writing from Swami to give to Cupid Boy that said I didn’t need to be on medication anymore, but Swami quickly seized upon my request as leverage in his deal making.
If you are telling me this clapped out dairy is worth 5 million dollars in this current state than most certainly you are delusional and in need of administration of medication. Conversely, if you told me you would accept $850,000 for the property--- which I would say is a very reasonable and appropriate offer---then one may feel comfortable enough with the progress of the depressive episode to recommend the end of the medication regime.
Well, that didn’t get anywhere. Apparently I’m still profoundly delusional.
Fauntleroy said yes to playing on the team. He looked in pretty rough shape though. When he stood up, sounded like a dozen bones cracking at once.
Betty’s looking in pretty rough shape too. They were disappointed I didn’t bring the baby over. Baby stayed with Phebe. I’ll have to go back soon. Betty said her daughter’s in jail in Goshen right now. She asked if I had any money to get her out. I told her no. She looked at me like she didn’t believe me.
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