Ants are tiny and mischievous - they are adventurers, constantly exploring. At that size, everything is a journey. A simple staircase becomes a mountain, a dying tree transforms into a sanctuary, a cupboard into a hotel. Their thirst for exploration is endless, but it can be annoying as it leads them to places like my bed, my trashcan, or my bathroom.
Currently, a city of ants has taken over my bathroom...I've allowed them to build, tracking their progress with each visit; but, on days when my mood is foul, their punctilious activity drives my nerves into the ground.
Yesterday, I destroyed their home; I decimated it. I swiped the whole thing with my foot - weeks of tireless, grinding work obliterated in a matter of seconds. I probably killed upwards of fifty - tore apart families, sending young, innocent souls to their graves. I'm a monster.
They should be crying. They should be seeking revenge. They should hate me - but they don't. They're right back it; rebuilding in the exact same spot. Not one unkind word, not one dirty look.
Saintly creatures. Live like an ANT.
An audio and PDF version of
CHUCK,THE TAILLESS RAT
will be released later today...
Rodman calls me "Killuh"....howzit killuh? Oh, you know it killuh. Hey Killuh, where's the monchong? What kind of fish are we serving killuh? - opah.
"My actions are blissfully free from outcomes." I'm working on it. Sit up straight, cross your legs, breathe deeply, rely on the mantra. "Om Anandham Namah...Om Anandham Namah." Slowly, let the words absorb you, allow your mind to float away, empty, free.
I'm trying, but all I can think about is Eric and his ex-fiance in the hut next to my yurt - probably because that's all I can hear right now. The two of them laughing and making love. The girl is married, but, clearly, not happily. They were engaged, but Eric was so wrapped up in his own heroine addiction the union, predictably, withered away. Now, she's back and she's rekindled the flame. "I fucking deserve it," he said to me today, cackling, cleaning dishes in the back room, "it's been nine months!"
Eric is very open with his past vices, he'll tell you all about how he was stabbing his arms with needles and fighting hookers and the gambling, Oh! the gambling - it's interesting to hear him speak so openly about it. I respect his honesty and his openness - it makes me feel real. I feel strong and accepted seeing him unashamed of his past. Boldly facing life one day at a time. He's not proud of the old days, but surely not ashamed of them, either. He washes dishes, now, but he's not shooting up. The doctors have replaced his old addiction with a new one - to Soboxin - one they can monitor and control, hopefully. "Oh, pray tell my dear sir," Eric said to a lonely, crazy passenger on the public transit. The man was attempting to explain his experiences as a helicopter pilot. "I've flown around the world in a helicopter," he declared. "Nah, no you didn't. I bet you rode this bus around the whole island, though," Eric responded, politely, but not really.
Eric is surprisingly intelligent. He did wood floors for thirty years - beautiful, magnificent creations...he's well read and can fix almost anything. His temper and his social skills are what get him into trouble. You have to know how to handle him - you just let him vent. Let him steam it out. He's short with long blonde hair, crazy eyes, and a goofy, infectious smile. He's a good guy; we've become good, strange friends. He's from Costa Mesa. We went to the same high schools (thirty years apart). We were born in the same hospital. Now, we drink the same biers and live on the same island.
Om Anandham Namah.
Here's a video of me dunking a basketball...because, frankly, i don't know how many more i have left. Wait for the se