She carries the small corpse everywhere. Occasionally she takes it by the neck and violently shakes it back and forth, in a spine snapping motion that throughout the noble huskies evolution has killed countless other critters -- who despite their own fuzzy faces and big innocent eyes, look to the smiling huskies like nothing but a little fun and lunch. Yes, the dog is a killer after all. I have still had no success getting her to kill. I am still learning how to command her to kill in a few of the more obscure Innuit dialects, but I suspect that even if I figure out the right command, the wily husky might just not be in the mood -- and she will do nothing without the proper mood, to the point that no matter how many times I drag her away from the piles of piss on the bushes we pass on our walks, she still stops and fights at the next pile of piss (of course, with the less indulgent, decidedly more ready to scream and strike M., Ruby always acts all obedient, then when we are out alone she tests me at every turn, and since it embarrasses the hell out of me to yell at a dog like some psycho, I indulge the hell out of her. I mean, this is a dog, okay,
they practically own the terms loyalty, care, and unconditional love. I respect them as superior beings. Only idiots and psychos don't (and I am neither, as long as I can keep the thin, chemical line that I walk within certain accepted boundaries... And while this may appear an ideal to some in my life, I assure you that most days pass with me well within my own perimeters, which include a buzz but discludes anything that gets me too wasted to work; I guess I should say pot and my milder than ever non narcotic pain meds are about all I can handle at my age, a time now when death is all around me and I want less to do with it than ever. I think crack, benzos, heroin, pills in general and anything you snort is just crazy now. I don't even want mushrooms or acid again.... Because the side effects really are just too painful, and the high not nearly amusing enough to make up for the post psychedelic depressions that I know so well... Not that I shouldn't make clear that long ago, when life was young and I was in high school, I felt differently... Stupid, ignorant shit that I was, I am very surprised that this body last long enough to produce me, the more sedate, intellectual wanderer).
Dog!!! I was just about to hit the punch line on the dead raccoon when I digressed all to hell here into something I had been thinking it was probably time to write in here again, since I watched the HBO's Methodonia, a documentary on addicts on methadone, and I don't want my small time Hunter S Thompsoning to be taken wrong. Now, then... Let us go back to a husky, her face an almost shining bright white, eyes the clear, clear blue of an arctic sky over a snowy tundra, shaking the hell out of a small raccoon corpse. The raccoon let out a few sounds at first. Squeaks and kind of a clicking. It still will, if you pick it up and squeeze the head just right, or the tail area, where the little guy has two machines that make noises designed to drive puppies a little crazed. Whoever came up with this dog toy was well aware of the dark side of the canine. This little raccoon may look and cute and fuzzy, but we are talking the heart of darkness here!!! The killer all ancient and allegedly dissolved, lurking just behind the hypnotic eyes of a femme fatale. Damn, I wish I would tap into this and get her to at least pretend to kick ass around hoody, wino looking men.
I am taking Ruby with me to the halloweed party just so we can make her up a toy that looks like road kill, which she can chomp on all night. She likes fake blood, as has been established in earlier video tapings about the neighborhood where I used her, making her pretend to attack anyone passing me on the streets who showed all the usual signs of being terrorified of dogs; I really have to figure out how to get some streaming footage of that in here, but all of that will have to wait until all the reward posters and the newspaper articles die down.... I mean, the cops and the guardian angels will forget about these incidences soon enough... it was all demonized after that woman got all scared and wimpy and ran in front of a bus. I mean, she is luck to be alive, but all she can do on the news is talk about 'finding that bastard.' I feel really kind of sorry for the guy who did this, and was surprised, as was M., to hear they have a dog that at least sounds similar to ours.
Anyways, if you have been wondering where I have been... Well, I have been meaning to bring this up.... I mean, this isn't easy for me. I have loved this blog and all. I mean, we went some places, did some things... But, before that... There was, u, cable TV. Okay, cable TV. Then came the dark, dark day when through some fluke the bill was nearly four hundred dollars and the decision was made to let the TV watching go for awhile.... Yea, sure, there have been lots of painting, a years worth of comedy and literary readings and more readers than in years or maybe even ever before, but... Well, we got cable again, and....
So, you know, I'll stop in once in awhile. I mean, you get so you've seen all the movies for that month pretty quick when you do nothing else. And there are only about four to six hours a day that I actually have to watch my shows. I mean, during that time I should be taking advantage of music channels and painting, since it does still pay me money, which these words, however charming and expensively came by, refuse to do... YOU FUCKING BASTARDS AND YOUR WORLD!!!! Uhm, well... So, you know, I got the cable remote in my hand and there is some stuff I want to... Well, to be honest, I just want to flip around awhile, get my bearings back... So, have a good life.
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