Night Sounds

The nature of things. Dreaming about fried potatoes and there's a noise outside like a bear in the underbrush. Little Sister goes ballistic and the pups are frantic. The refrigerator sounds like cats in a barrel. I'm sleeping on the sofa, because it was the nearest flat surface, and don't remember I'm sleeping there, so when I jump up, in the dark, I knock 20 or 30 books off the tool chest I call a coffee table, and ding my shin hard enough to draw blood. Grab the shotgun and a flashlight, but whatever it was is gone.<> I'll look for track when it's light. I'd like to think it was a bear. It's four in the morning and nothing makes any sense, I get a short drink and roll a smoke. The bleeding shin isn't a problem and I turn on enough light to re-stack the books. Sara was back yesterday and mentioned that Terry wanted me to cook ribs again, before cold weather, up on the roof. I'm good with that, now that I can navigate the driveway after dark, I just need to know how many people I'm feeding. And I know now to leave some ribs for Terry, so he won't call the cops to see who took the left-overs. Mr. Nelson has an amazing voice. All the things I could say. Brad Gray. If dreams were lightning, make me an angel. Flies from Montgomery. I ain't done nothing since I woke up today. This living is a hard way to go. Only three people know what I mean, and two of then are dead. Translate. The city, and its light, is illusion. That slanted brightness means nothing, merely angles reflected on mirrors. A peripatetic walk down the new driveway. It's awfully flat, you don't have to pick a line. Back at the house, a huge brunch of potatoes and eggs, with caramelized onions and some serious chilies; a second double espresso, rereading some essays by Hugh Kenner from "Mazes", perceptive stuff. He wrote a nice piece about Guy Davenport, so I have to go get a Davenport and read some of those essays, which I consider among the finest in the language. A day well spent, reading such fine writing, and talking back to the fridge. I finally have to kill the breaker and turn the radio off, I was using them to balance each other. Too much noise. Probably have to replace the fridge within the week. I'll have to enlist aid, so I have to think about the logistics involved in changing out the unit. This is where having brothers close at hand is a very good thing. And it's not easy to get shed of a major appliance. If you're poor, you just put it out in the yard. Westinghouse death-traps, someplace you stash the much younger brother while you did your business with latest Playmate. Sometimes, they die. Life's a shooting match. I'm overwhelmed by this digging a new ditch and cleaning out the catchments thing, I can't do it, I can't physically do it; not that my body has failed, but there are beginning to be reservations about what I might.