CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT

Listen to them, the children of the night.
What music they make!

Dracula
Bram Stoker

I've been nocturnal for as long as I can remember - - and when I try to sleep, I'm a hopeless insomniac.

Hungarian heritage? Possible vampirism?? It's undoubtedly something in my blood (no Dracula puns intended). Some people rise and shine with the morning sun. I don't feel alive until after dark. I'm never fully awake until midnight. I dread daybreak.

So where am I going with this subject?
Absolutely nowhere. It simply crossed my mind tonight, during a several-hours-long battle with insomnia.

I went to bed extremely early tonight - which means before midnight. My Big Plan (capitalized for emphasis) was to drive to town. This wasn't intended to be a pleasure excursion, but rather a necessary one. I need a new vacuum cleaner. Pronto.

The more I tried to sleep, the more I turned and tossed. The more I tossed and turned, the wider awake I became. The wider awake I became, the more I dreaded the agonizing prospect of piloting those excruciatingly endless winding mountain roads.

My back hurts, Big Time. I also have a monumental kink in my neck (had it for days). Probably should buy new pillows, along with the vacuum cleaner. 

Bosco was hogging all the covers. No need for alarm. Bosco's a cat. Not a lover. (just thought I'd clear that up in case you were in doubt)

Come to think of it, I probably did have a lover named Bosco somewhere along the line - - long ago during my reckless whiskey and hashish days..... Or was that Bozo?
(sometimes I like to throw in an unexpected punch, just to knock my critics for a loop) 

An owl was emitting spooky Halloweenish hoots near my bedroom window. At least I think it was an owl....

I finally got up, went into the kitchen, made a sandwich and a cup of coffee. At 3:00 a.m. 
Caffeine is the last thing I need. I'm already wired for sound.

At around 4:00 a pack of coyotes wandered in from the forest just behind the house - howling, yelping, growling, shrieking with demonic enthusiasm. 

There were a lot of them, much more than usual, and they came very close to my back door. I turned on the back porch light. When they finally moved to a safer distance, I stepped outside to have a look. They were already just a murky blur in the darkness.

When the coyotes are very close in large numbers, their presence is blood-curdling - - not to mention goose bump inducing - - but I love the excitement. There's an intoxicating satisfaction about being alone in the wilderness at night. It lends romance to nocturnality and intrigue to insomnia.

Spell Check informs me that nocturnality doesn't exist. I say bullshit! Look in the dictionary. Spel czech iz rong!!

So, where was I?

It's nearly dawn now and I'm still not sleepy. My Big Plan for Wednesday has been thwarted by insomnia. I can't go on Thursday, due to predicted Big Storms (capitalized for emphasis). The vacuum cleaner will have to wait. And I have no regrets.

I'm going back to bed.


Afterthought:
This crappy post probably shouldn't have been written. If you'd rather see pictures, check out my two previous posts.

 

THIS ONE WON'T TAKE MUCH EFFORT

Well, Jon, what do you think your blog readers want to see for Easter?

Me - - hanging from the nearest tree. Kinda like Judas Iscariot.

Besides that.

They sure as hell don't want to absorb anything wordy or thoughtful, like my Good Friday post. It scared the jeeters out of them (there are many times when I scare myself, but that's beside the point). Many thanks Geo, for the only comment!

My readers obviously prefer mindless, inane fluff. Like beer-induced rants. Or boring photos.

Did you drink any beer lately, Jon?

No, I'm still recovering from last Wednesday. 

I'll post some inane photos. 
I wanted to take some Easter Sunday pictures of the blossoms, but there's so damn much frost at night that the blossoms are fading fast. Half of them are on respirators. They might not survive until Easter.
It's warm and sunny here during the day, but after dark the temperature plummets to minus 40. Almost.

Against my better judgement, here are an assortment of Easter-themed photos, most of which were taken a few years ago in Texas. My long-time blog readers will remember them and silently groan. 

FIRST, these are the few surviving blossoms on my property. I took these pics today (Saturday): 

 

SECOND - here are some pics I took when I lived in Texas:

  My cat Scratch devouring the Easter tulips

 

 I still have that antique pitcher - it's one of the few things the movers didn't break or lose

Scratch

encountering the Easter Bunny 

 The Easter Bunny
encountering a tumbleweed in the back yard

C

Chocolate cream-filled Easter cakes that I made myself (I can bake - - I'm not just another pretty face)

 I think these are called orange stars -
they're fairly popular in West TX during Easter

Don't laugh - he looks pretty damn good for being 105...... 
(hell, I feel 105)

 


Some vintage Easter graphics on my other blog:
http://cabinetofcurioustreasures.blogspot.com  

 

IT'S ONLY THE BEER TALKING

I'm in a dangerously foul mood and I'm plied with beer. This is fair warning. I'm ready for a rumble.

I don't think "rumble" has been in anyone's vocabulary for fifty years, but what the hell.

And if any of you blog critics still think I'm writing too much about myself, buzz off and go read a boring blog. There are plenty of hausfraus out there blogging about recipes for lemon chiffon pies. Go find one.

The term "buzz off" hasn't been used since Cher was married to Sonny. Which has nothing to do with my age.

I was going to write more Easter crap but I'm not in the mood. I'll save it for later - when I'm feeling mellow and saccharine......

....which might not be for a few months.

So why are you in a foul mood, Jon?

Actually, I'm always in a foul mood but I'm adept at covering it up. When I'm plied with beer my Faux Happy Face dissolves and my evil alter ego comes to the surface. Ready to snap, bite, and rip to shreds.

I forced myself to drive into town this morning. Only because I haven't gone shopping in a month and I was out of everything. Including litter and chow for the damn trio of felines.

Scratch, Scruffy, and Bosco.

Today is Wednesday and - for some secret hillbilly reason that I've never been able to figure out - the banks and all public offices close at noon here on Wednesdays.

So, I had to get my ass in gear and race down the mountainside before noon in order to go to the bank. And I had to pile all my trash in the car to take to the dump. There's no trash pickup here in the boonies and it's an incredible inconvenience.

After all this time I still have NEVER gotten used to the long, winding, perilous, unnerving, harrowing, annoying, incredibly dangerous ride into town.
Did I mention harrowing?

It doesn't get any easier - in fact it gets worse. But I'm used to the curves, and they get smoother and more entertaining after I've ingested a few beers.

And the first person who lectures me on the reasons not to drink and drive is going to get bitch-slapped with my dirty hanky.

I've always lived dangerously and I have no doubt that I'll die that way. Only I'll die a lot sooner here in this freaking cursed wilderness.

I spent 200 bucks on groceries and didn't get half of what I needed. The worst part of shopping is when I arrive home. I live on a steep incline (to put it very mildly). When I park the car it's on an extreme slant. It takes all my strength to shove open the door and crawl out. Then I have to unload all of the groceries and haul them up another very steep slope to the back door.

All the while I'm hauling, I'm slipping and sliding on mud, fighting wasps bees and flies, and getting bombarded with gnats that get wedged in my contact lenses and go in my mouth.

Why do the gnats go in your mouth, Jon?

Because I'm so frickin' out of breath that I'm panting like Rin Tin Tin. My nose is clogged from allergies and sinuses. If I didn't breathe through my mouth, I'd suffocate. And when I breathe through my mouth, the gnats go in.

Why did you ever move to the mountain wilderness if you don't like it, Jon?  

I moved here to get away from bastards like you who ask too many questions.

Actually I love it here. I just hate all the inconveniences. 

It's suppose to rain all day tomorrow, so I'm glad I ventured to town today.

This has been one helluva gloomy post, Jon. Do you have anything positive to say?

Yea - all my critics are presently reading other blogs about how to make lemon chiffon pies. So I don't have to worry about them bitching about my blog.

and

I'm sure as hell glad I only have cats instead of children. My poor cousin Nancy ....how shall I say this tactfully?.... is presently in....a Family Crises Mode....

and

All the spring blossoms have survived the recent frosts. I've posted some recent photos for your visual delight.

now

I'm gonna take a nap. The effects of the alcohol will eventually wear off and I'll be back to my sweet, cute, sexy, interesting, irresistible self. 

I just threw that in to piss off my critics. 

 Blossoms this morning -

they survived the frost! 

  

RAINBOW AFTERNOON

"Don't you just love those rainy afternoons in New Orleans when an hour isn't just an hour - but a little piece of eternity dropped into your hands - and who knows what to do with it?"

I'm saying that with my best Blanche DuBois southern accent - 
and I'm in a state of delectable melancholy, perpetuated by a rain-soaked afternoon in which I am selfishly languishing, accompanied by a cozy cup of steaming tea and the contented purring of several lazy cats.

Occasionally I resort to cheap theatrical tactics, in order to annoy my critics. 

Rainy afternoons were made to indulge in languishing, and today I made the most of it. The temperatures are mild, the cold bite of winter is a thing of the past. Everything outside is sprouting green and some of the trees are almost starting to bloom. I'm slowly but surely emerging from my seasonal cocoon.

I'll never get used to the infuriating clock change - which is one of the most ridiculous and annoying inconveniences ever inflicted upon mankind. It serves no discernible purpose. 

In early evening the rain stopped, the clouds parted, and a spectacular rainbow appeared in the golden light of the setting sun.

 
I pulled on my boots, grabbed my El Cheapo camera and ran outside to capture the spectacle for posterity. The rainbow was already fading over the house.  I happened to see the tail of it glowing beyond the trees in the meadow by the cow field.

Despite the mud and the strong possibility of falling on my ass (again), I bounded over to the meadow and managed to snap a few pictures before it disappeared.

 

 Unfortunately, there was no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow (believe me, I looked).

My other blog:
http://cabinetofcurioustreasures.blogspot.com

WELCOMING THE WARMTH

I should never have bothered responding to the snide comment (please see previous post), which wasn't worthy of a response, but it simply rubbed me the wrong way.

I've come to the point where I'm tired of dealing with negativity and people who love playing head games - - whether it's from a personal friend (who really likes to hit me below the belt) or a miserable little lurker who gets a rise out of criticizing a blog. If they want to throw shit, I'm in the mood to sling it right back.

As for the issue of me always writing about myself: I believe that bloggers who never write about themselves are probably boring people. I write about myself because I'm one of the most interesting persons I know. And if that sounds like I'm self-absorbed, I sure as hell am.

You're pressing your luck, Jon. Your three fans (or is it two?) are biting their fingernails and thinking about abandoning you.

Change of subject:
(I can hear your huge unanimous sigh of relief)

Got up at dawn today. These posted photos are the result: the rising sun just emerging beyond the forest in the back yard.

The morning fog always lends a sense of magic to the awakening of a new day. Sometimes I watch it in bed - drifting mists, ever-changing, swirling outside the window. Other times I'll go out on the back porch with a cup of coffee to enjoy the spectacle. 

Winter seems to have melted away. The temperature has turned very mild and I love it. I've been deeply depressed and hopelessly unmotivated for a very long time. The springlike warmth has served to revive me and remind me that I still might have a heart and soul.

I've been trying to tackle some weeds and brush, but on these wild acres it's nearly an insurmountable task - and I don't have proper tools, since the movers "lost" most of them. All that's left is a shovel and shears.

There are endless tangles of half-dead bushes with vicious thorns, which I'm assuming were once rose bushes. I've eliminated some of them, but there are lots more to go. I'd like to plant a few things this year. Nothing elaborate. I might start with something simple like sunflowers.

I'm taking advantage of the mild weather this week. Doing some outdoor painting and repairs. I'm also finally installing new doorknobs and locks.
Doorknobs???
There are three outside doors on this house. When I bought the place, the previous owner didn't have any keys for the locks. He didn't know what happened to them. His son had initially been living here, and then the place was empty for over three years.

So -
I could lock the doors from the inside when I was home, but if I went out I always had to leave one of the doors unlocked because I didn't have any keys to get back in.

Is this boring? I'm starting to bore myself and that worries me. After all, I'm supposed to be the most interesting person I know.

How about another photo?
This was taken yesterday evening from the front porch.

For some reason, the morning fog reminded me of the ballet Swan Lake. I never realized how many mediocre productions there are of Swan Lake until I started watching some of them on YouTube. The best production by far is from the Bolshoi, and the dancers are superb. You can find a link somewhere on my sidebar.

If you know nothing about the ballet, read a synopsis first. Otherwise you'll be wondering why the hell the Prince is chasing swans with a crossbow.


Check out my other blog -
the one where I DON"T write about myself......

http://cabinetofcurioustreasures.blogspot.com

REPEAT PERFORMANCE

For those of you new to my blog, I'll briefly recap my falls:

Twenty years ago I fell down a flight of stairs and landed directly on the base of my spine, sustaining a very (and I mean very) nasty injury.

I vowed it would never happen again.

Last winter, when I first moved to Tennessee, I fell on the ice twice - landing on the exact same spot of my spine. It's now a year later and I still have pain and trouble walking.

I vowed it would never happen again.

The mountain terrain on my property is all slopes and angles - there's not a level spot. It's treacherous when there's ice or rain. Hell, it's treacherous even on a dry day. I now use extreme caution whenever I walk outside, and I also use a walking stick.

Today was a rare dry day - no ice, no rain. But there is mud.

Need I go any farther? You can already guess what happened.

I walked out to my car to get a few things that were in the trunk: a twelve-pack case of Coke, a thirty pound bag of cat litter, and a four-roll pack of toilet paper.

I didn't bring a walking stick. My arms were loaded with all the stuff. I laboriously dragged myself up the hill and almost made it to the back porch.
That's when I slipped on some mud.

I wish I had this on video, because seeing it would be much more entertaining than describing it.

I was suddenly airborne.
I literally flew onto the back porch, head first, and landed directly on a lawn chair.

Somehow, the thirty pound bag of kitty litter landed on me, the Coke cans rolled everywhere, and only God knows where the toilet paper went. The once-sturdy lawn chair broke into pieces. And I mean pieces.

I had instinctively broken the fall with my arms and subsequently injured my wrists. A chunk of flesh was gouged out of my left wrist, courtesy of the metal lawn chair. It wasn't until I was laying there, face down, that my chest, knees, and left leg started hurting.

As stars and birdies swirled around my head - like in a Warner Brother's cartoon - I realized that I was fortunate I didn't land on my spine.

I really felt sick for several hours after I finally crawled inside. 
And I had unholy visions of what might have happened if I hadn't been able to get up:
After I froze to death and the coyotes were feasting on my body, my three cats would watch and laugh from the kitchen window.

Is there a happy ending to this tale of woe? Naw, not a chance. I not only ache in a wide assortment of uncomfortable places, my pride hurts, too.

And I vow that it will never happen again.



Since I have no photos of me falling on my ass in Tennessee, I've decided to treat you to these pics that were taken when I lived in Texas.

I had set the timer on my camera with the inane intention of taking some pictures of myself fooling around in a wheelbarrow. Naturally, the damn thing toppled over just as the camera was clicking.

 

MY LIFE AS A BOOK

Why don't you write a book about your life, Jon?

Easier said than done, Kemo Sabe.
I've been a published writer since I was sixteen and have written things in many genres (that's a word I dislike, but I'll use it). I feel reasonably comfortable writing about any subject - - - anything but myself.

It's not always easy to be objective about oneself, or brutally honest, or totally open. As a fiercely private person, I often astonish myself at the things I reveal in this blog. And, trust me, what I reveal is selective and delivered with caution. Usually.

I fully believe that there is a book in everybody, with interesting stories to be told. We're all unique in our own way. We are all only as boring as we choose to be. When we carefully reflect on our lives, it's surprising how many intriguing incidents we can extract.

I initially never thought of myself as being unique or interesting. I considered my life to be rather bland and mundane. Certainly not worthy of a book.

Then....
I started to really ponder my past and all the things I've done, the adventures I had. In retrospect, I've been privileged (and perhaps damned) to have had a colorful, unique, and unusual existence. Book worthy? Mmmmm......I dunno.

Jon, are you purposefully being modest, or are you ruefully manipulating your readers for sympathy and encouragement?

Both.

You've known famous people, have hobnobbed with the wealthy and privileged. You've slummed with junkies and hookers, and had a turbulent affair with an ex-con. You've performed as soloist with a symphony orchestra, lived on the beach in Baja, were chased by a mountain lion in Nevada. A very wealthy woman wanted to marry you. Another woman's jealous husband threatened to kill you in a very public place. You lived with a Hollywood actor, and had a tryst with a famous movie director in the  Beverly Hills Hotel. You knew a gay porno movie director and attended orgies at his house. You've survived your abusive father. You've battled alcohol, several nervous collapses, alarmingly self-destructive tendencies, a profound inferiority complex, and panic attacks that would have frightened Freud. 
Your life is worthy of a book.

You're very convincing, Kemo Sabe. And you've only scratched the surface.  
BUT 
(there's always an inevitable "but", isn't there?) 
Here's why I'm hesitant to reveal all in a book:

Describing my real life, with real events and real people is extremely risky. And I mean extremely.

If I name names of people still living (or even people now dead) there is the possibility - or, rather, the inevitability - of law suits. If I change names and fictionalize, it's a HUGE copout. When you put it all down, indelibly, on paper, it's raw bait for shark attacks.

Even in my blog I am purposefully evasive about many details in my life. Revealing too much is always a risk. 

And then there are the armchair nitpickers, who love to point out errors and mistakes. 
Example:
If I say that I was at the Blue Parrot Bar on 4th Street in 1985, somebody will inevitably inform me that it was the Blue Flamingo Bar on 3rd Street, which closed in 1984. 

Fortunately, my memory is incredibly sharp and I make very few mistakes.
So, there you have it, Geronimo.

I'm Kemo Sabe.

Oh. Sorry.   

In conclusion (and not a moment too soon) - - yes, I want to write this memoir, publish it, and unleash myself to an unsuspecting world.  

And I do have one important thing in my favor:
I've spent most of my life worrying about what other people think, catering to everybody's whims, bending over backwards to please (nothing sexual implied), and constantly discounting myself.

I've finally come to the point where I don't give a shit what others think. I have nothing to lose.  

Now, please excuse me, while I start making a list of suitable actors who could portray me in the movie version......