I'm not exactly in the mood to blog, and yet I want to share, so I thought what I might do on days I don't feel like blogging anything new - would be to blog somthing old - and to air it out with you. So here is somthing old to me but new to you - I was trying on a kind of benzidrine enhanced style. Let me know what you think by clicking on the comments thing in red at the bottom of the page.

Title: This is all true

Wasfi Goddess wanted to hit me, but on the day chosen for our fight he found a baby rabbit instead and I told him how to take care of it as we rode home on the bi-state buss, we were fifteen. Years later I was with my father at a car dealership which isn’t there anymore, now it’s a car rental place – I know cause dad and I went there not so long ago looking for a new car for me since mine had been demolished at three am in front of my house by a drunk driver who drove away, who got away and left me car-less. The car dealership had become a car rentalship, but back then it was a dealership and my job was to keep my father from leaving the place with a car, I was to be reason in the face of his desire and I was to prevent the salesman from making the deal, but I was bored and I didn’t want to be there and then I saw Wasfi and Wasfi was buying a car, a much nicer car than the eggshell blue rabbit that my father had his eye on, that my father still has, that my father obviously came home with after I left with his assurances that he was just looking, that my father brags about the sound of the engine of, German engineering, that my sister drove for years until it broke down in Iowa on the way home to the ville from Wisconsin, my sister Sandy had to stay with me in the ville for several days until her husband Steve could come and get her, except he wasn’t her husband yet at that point – but he might have been, anyway after I saw Wasfi and the guys he was with – one guy was a young guy who had tried to hit me from behind, but had only hit my backpack and then I elbowed him – or I tried to, but I only hit my backpack – and he said, “what’s up with you, what’s the static” and I didn’t know what he meant as static was not in my vernacular as tension – it only meant random electricity that gives you a shock and is generated by rough fabrics rubbing together. Like the shock you get when the guy who wanted to hit you, but found a rabbit instead, gets involved in doing the sorts of things to other people that allow you to buy a very nice car when you’re very young and you have lots of other guys around you who are there presumably to do the hitting, should any be required. And the world fell all over, as it often does.
Anyway Sandy and I broke down in that rabbit just outside of Fairfield Iowa when a strut snapped, it could have snapped at any point on the highway, but it chose to snap as we were pulling into a gas station. The women there who we waited with for the triple A guy – remembered me over the next several years whenever I would stop there for gas, she’d say “aren’t you that guy that broke down here, don’t you teach in the ville”, and I’d say “yes” and that was the extent of our flirtation, but it was clearly a flirtation – limited in scope, but a flirtation none-the-less. My friend Beth’s brother managed a grocery in Fairfield for several years, he called the locals “the rues” after Guru – in honor of the Marharishi International University of Management located there. My friend Carl Martin – The poet - who signed my copy of Genii over Salzburg after we drank a very large bottle of gin – near, but not with, the Hawaiian Museum director who was kicking her habit with North Carolina and Hard Boiled eggs (this was when John John died in the plane crash) and Carl immortalized my friend Yumi in a poem a year later after a diner at Minn’s Cuisine in the ville, when a local professor mistook her Korean features for those of an Inuit and made a comment equally enlightened (her husband is an “independent scholar” who wears a cowboy hat and hands out his card in the hopes that someone will talk to him about his important theories which involve the significance of a book about a talking monkey (insert title) ironically by a talking monkey– this is a book which makes me tired in the same way that when I was in my early twenties people would try to talk to me about Ann Rand and I would just get tired – Ann’s rationalizations and cold war individualism rhetoric are just more than I can handle. It’s a sort of pre yuppie propaganda on which the displaced entitled youth tries to mask their entitlement with a Nietchian will to power. How’s that for a rant? An ex-girlfriend of mine once rode back from Chicago with this professorial couple on a train and they read loudly to one another and the other passengers winced – wincing for miles across the plains if Illinois.
Carl went to Maharishi Mahesh when it first opened – he was accepted and enrolled before they bought the campus- he and the beach boys were surprised to be heading to Iowa– he had a break down there – got a jolt of too much shakti from the Guru– they don’t really care if you break in this life because what is this life after all but the gateway to the next – anyway his break was schizophrenic bipolar and all the other words they use for schisms now- an African American from North Carolina who Mia Angelu just doesn’t get because he’s not writing about the south or his blackness – he’s writing about Genii’s over Salzburg.
I wonder if Beth’s brother ever waited on the gas station girl?
So sandy and I spend the night in this drafty Days Inn and I have to teach in the a.m. so I get a ride in with my friend who commutes from Fairfield, she has two beautiful daughters who like the power puff girls and a husband who knows she’s leaving and so he tries to enter a death cage match to prove his love for her, but his knees are no good and they have no health insurance and she leaves him anyway and meets this other guy at another University years later he leaves his wife for her – so it’s all cages and death matches with that one – anyway she gives me a ride in and my sister shows up later with the towed rabbit. The triple A guy is only supposed to tow 50 miles for free, but he does that whole thing for free – right to my driveway in Kirksville because she gives him acorn squash from my parents garden in Wisconsin or he does it and she gives them because that’s just what you do.