Brain Science

A loud noise in the middle of the night (2:28 in the morning) followed by the yapping of a pack of hounds. On the way home yesterday, I'd stopped to pick up a five-gallon bucket. It had holes drilled in the bottom, which led me to believe it had been used to raise a tomato plant, and it was near where I pick up my throwing rocks. I stopped and threw a few. I do love throwing rocks. Collected a couple of dozen that fit my hand, put them in the bucket. When I got home, sat the bucket by the back door. So I knew, when I flipped on the backyard floods, that I was going to throw a few rocks. I remind myself, recounting this, to be careful with the periods and to consider every comma. When you think about it, there are a lot of constraints placed against trying to be clear. I was reading Basho's haiku and he had made a comment about the honking of the geese. It was a large cat defending the compost pile. A feral calico, with claws and an attitude. Cartomage mask of Nehmes, Basteta, an Egyptian feline deity. I'm very good with rocks at short range, sent the dogs running. Left in that odd position one assumes after throwing a knuckleball: somewhat exposed, but in the history of baseball there has never been a knuckleball pitcher killed by a line-drive. Even if you know what's going to happen, it's a surprise. I have to smile, remembering night-fishing off the outer beach. Basho:

no moon, no blossoms
just drinking sake
all alone

Samara calls and we have a delightful conversation. They both have shows opening in October and they want to come out for Thanksgiving; I know that means pork ribs instead of a turkey. There's nothing on my calendar for the next decade, I can fit them in. Ribs, with roasted root vegetables, and a slaw, sounds pretty good. I'll get them a room in town. That way we can work, our sexual passions dismissed. And I can have a shower. I have to go. The next line of squalls runs from horizon to horizon. A raw blues player. Tee Model Blues. Then the house band plays Booker, "Green Onions", on a couple of guitars with a great drummer. Fucking brings tears to my eyes. Tell me who's that rider? Certain songs, it's just a dream, I think I'm the only one that hears.