Monday, March 17, 2003

Things Coming Up Missing A familiar theme in the life of a beleaguered man. He couldn't even tell you how much time he had spent digging through cupboards and boxes and closets, running his finger along his crowded book shelves or racks of records and CDs, thumbing through his file cabinets or rooting around under furniture in search of some missing item or another. Something, generally, without which he was unable to proceed as a normal human being --assuming, of course, that even under ideal organizational circumstances he would ever be able to function as a normal man. It got worse, though; it was definitely getting worse as he got older. The hunt for an obscure pamphlet on Egyptian urology or an early manual on hearing aids, for instance, might consume an entire Saturday afternoon, and if fruitless could stretch into the wee hours of Sunday morning. These wild goose chases were, of course, increasingly fruitless --were, in fact, by their very nature fruitless-- and often as not he would find himself after a number of hours wondering what had prompted the search in the first place. It was unhealthy, he knew that, unhealthy to have so much stuff and absolutely no system of order or organization. One year he spent almost an entire week tearing up his house in search of an old Kodachrome snapshot of a G.I. in full combat uniform with a Santa Claus ventriloquist dummy on his lap. He wanted to use the photo on the annual Christmas card he would never get around to sending, but in the end he gave up the search, and could no longer be certain that the photo in question was not simply another figment of his imagination. 1:41:44 PM

Back From The Dead Or at least back in the Blog Saddle after a week spent climbing silos and water towers. Spring is the shittiest season, I don't care what any of the addled old poets and song writers say. It's a synonym for mess in my book, and a prescription for fucked up blood chemistry. When the temperature hits 60 degrees I have to essentially rewire my brain and peel myself off the floor to flip "Astral Weeks" on the turntable. Any kind of excursion from the house involves navigating a disgusting obstacle course of moldering dog shit. The bottom line is that the transition from winter to spring sets off all these brush fires in the circuitry of my brain and makes actual consciousness all but impossible. But, hey, I'm a blog warrier, and I know I'm being counted on to blaze a meandering trail of bread crumbs for my colleagues here at City Pages. Which brings me back to the place I started from on this hobbled journey, back to Samuel Beckett's blogger's credo: Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind... And back to Walt Whitman: Where is what I started for so long ago, and why is it yet unfound? Rest assured, of my nonsense there is no end. I may fall off the blog wagon from time to time, but I'll always climb back on, and I'm going to be here babbling in my dark and obscure little closet in cyberspace, whether you --the fiercely imagined you-- give a rat's ass or ever even bother to come knocking on my door. Whether you even exist I'll continue to muddle on. I blog, therefore I am. So: Hi ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To Work We Go. Eenie Meenie Minie Moe. Fe Fi Fo Fum. Yo Ho Ho And A Bottle of Rum. Tra-la-la Boom-dee-ay. Ollie Ollie Umph Phum Phree. Hickory Dickory Dock. Cockle Doodle Doo. Duck Duck Gray Duck. Ba Ba Black Sheep. Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie. Hip Hip Hooray. Ki Yi Yippee Yi Yay. Abra Cadabra. Yabba Dabba Do. Gabba Gabba Hey. Hey Bo Diddley. Hey Diddle Diddle. Diddy Wa Widdy. Da Do Run Run.Yodel Lay Hee Hoo. Rock A Bye Baby. Be Bop A Loo La. Rinky Dinky Doo. Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ra. Abba Zabba. Razzle Dazzle. Fiddle Faddle. Shazzam. Supercalifragilicious. Rin Tin Tin. Ping Pong. Ding dong. Sing song. Hop-A-Long. Humpty Dumpty. Higglety Pigglety. Piggly Wiggly. Boo Hoo. Bow Wow. Wowee Zowee. Hubba Hubba. Zippety Doo Da. Snap, Crackle, Pop. Talley Ho. Tee Hee. Ho Ho. Ha Ha. Hula Hoop. Pitter Patter. Chit Chat. Kit Kat. Augie Doggie. Steeple People. Bible Bangers. Bouncing Babies. Bubble Bath. Freedom Fries. Good, better, best, never let it rest, until your good is better and your better is best. Now I lay me down to sleep. Don't take any wooden nickels. Don't let the bed bugs bite. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. 10:50:54 AM

© Copyright 2003 Brad Zellar. Last update: 4/6/03; 9:59:17 PM.