Some email from Calamari Press sprung up in my Inbox. It sprung there, it slouched. Calamari is about to release Blake’s novella. Very cool. So, I read this email kind of, a bunch of confused browsing/reading by me (I was playing my brother in trivia and Madden [same time] while a skunk in Kentucky tried to eat the stack of tortillas on our back patio.)
Oh, Kentucky does allow Internet I found out, but you have to register your name at the hotel, give them your ID, and sign a document to swear to not swear.
I won in trivia, as always. I am nothing if not trivial. I lost some in Madden. The skunk did not eat the mounds of tortillas. We did.
Anyway, came across this sentence: “I’ve only met Blake Butler in person once. He ordered nachos as an entree for dinner at some Irish Pub in Midtown Manhattan. Then we played poker.”
Dude ordered NACHOS. (Not to mention poker, which was once cool. Now it’s kind of diluted like having a tattoo. Then again, I have a tattoo.)
Well, I was already going to buy his books, blog him, review him, give him blee to his East TN goat, slay the nearest dragon, all that. But now he eats nachos??????????
The finest food known to man.
The coffee arriving, oily and now.
The legally binding X.
(blake, at ballgame. he must shield nachos from spittle/entropy/foul balls)
Yesterday I watched a squirrel leap for a limb, miss, and tumble to the ground: thump. It shook it off and then scrambled up the nearest tree. Do animals make mistakes? So I suppose that would be a link to us (then again, we are kingdom Animalia). But it just seems animals live so much better than us, with less anxiety, alienation, self-analysis.
I started thinking of all my tumbles. I did leap from a train trestle to avoid an oncoming train. I did leap from the back of a moving pickup (concussion). I did leap from a rooftop (fractured calcaneous). But these were not officially tumbles. They were done purposely, with possibly self-hate. Oh, I did slip on my deck a few weeks ago in the ice and broke my toe. Ok, that one counts.
Oddly, this does not affect my training. You can run fine with broken toe.
Later I saw a coyote crossing a field. I made a screech/squeak noise with my mouth, mimicking a wounded rabbit. This worked. He came right to me. Then I noticed he was limping, his front leg a bit twisted. A felt for that coyote. I imagine he’s the type that would eat your family dog or raid the garbage can–a wounded animal has it tough.
I let it pass on by, ratcheting along down a trail. Did it feel sorry for itself? I think not.
These are the things you think of while sitting in a deer stand in the snow…
I am now reading:
Here’s a Christmas poem from Agni.
The Long Road
It’s one of those highways you come across late at night. No signs. No
arrows. Just a road running north and south. You pause. You look one
way. Then the other. Nothing. Only the hum of the engine, the chirping
of crickets confirm you are here. You can’t remember where you’ve been.
Where you are going. If it weren’t for the lines drawn through the middle,
you’d think you were drifting down a river. Or stumbling upon a path
through the sky. Remember, it is a moonless night. You are tired.
Hungry. No one to talk to. Afraid that what you were thinking might have
come true. You look to your left again. Perhaps you see a mountain. An
ocean. A lover you wish you hadn’t lost. Spirits that seem so familiar,
drifting in from the dark. You wait in that silence. It may be years before
it is safe to proceed.