egg.
I could walk to the little country store and buy more. I could buy bread, too. And butter. I could also buy coffee.
I could invite everyone here to a delicious breakfast.
~ * ~
August 4
I remember this: it is a great chore to bring a cup brimming with hot coffee from its saucer to the lips without spilling some, which is how I learned to bring the saucer to the area of my mouth with the cup, so it (the saucer) can catch the spillage.
~ * ~
August 5, in the sometime morning
Dark tonight.
Awakened just minutes ago by this: "AABBNNEERRR!"
I opened my eyes and thought I'd gone blind. I sensed no one nearby who might have said, "AABBNNEERRR!" —no one other than the murky presences in my house.
"AAABBBNNNEEERRRR!" I heard.
"Phyllis?" I said. "Phyllis?" I repeated, and glanced about for some point of light. "Am I blind?" I said. "Have I gone blind?"
"AAABBBNNNEEERRRR!" the voice said, and I tried to decide if whatever was speaking was above me, or to my right or left, or at the foot of the bed, or on the bed itself.
"AAABBBNNNEEERRRR!"
"Who are you?" I screamed.
"AAABBBNNNEEERRRR!"
"Who are you?" I screamed.
"AAABBBNNNEEERRRR!" the voice repeated, though with greater insistence and urgency, as if making some point.
"Tell me your name!" I screamed.
"AAABBBNNNEEERRRR!" the voice repeated.
And there was silence.
And I became aware, once more, of the murky and intrusive presences that exist with me in my little house in the dim woods.
~ * ~
Aug 5
Back from the country store with groceries.
I have whole wheat flour. I have butter. Margarine. Cooking oil. I have a quart of lard. Pound of bacon and same of hamburger. Same of eggs—a dozen. Gallon of milk. One percent. Crisco. Baking soda. As well as almonds as well.
It will be no small chore cleaning the cupboards out of the insects inside.
~ * ~
August 5
Lard is comfort food. Lard is the energy of protein. Lard has saving capabilities.
I have cooked the bacon and the hamburger.
I have sat at table.
Phyllis was at it to my left.
She covered my hand with hers and helped me eat.
I ate.
And slept.
I am a goddamned fool.
~ * ~
August 05 in the evening
It comes to me that Phyllis once had a jawbone which worked and that she thinks about that fact or has thought about it at some point in her time here, in this dimension, her new dimension, or that she has thought about her muscles, or her feet and arms and hands and realized that their very existence, her very need of them, and they of her, spoke eloquently of her mortality, which is the same with her lips and ankles, and her entire biology.
And mine. My entire biology.
For the first time in a long time I believe I need to use the bathroom. I had forgotten what a telling and wonderful part of life that is—using the bathroom, enjoying a good productive bowel movement and the enormous relief of urination.
~ * ~
Later evening
There and gone.
~ * ~
1:21
Took a dump and a pee.
I evacuate my bladder, therefore I am.
~ * ~
1:30
I smile into my mirror. It's not a bad smile, despite the overwhelming sadness behind it, which is profound and honest and makes the smile endearing.
Sam is there, in the mirror.
Phyllis is there, too, in the mirror, near him, behind him, near him.
Both of them smile, too, though their smiles are unknowable and invisible.
The passing misery is in the mirror, also. And each facet of it (each of its million facets) remembers its parts its jawbones and fingers, its musculature and its need of feet and genitalia. Each is locked in, set in, here, stuck here, stuck here.
In my little house in the dim woods.
I love my smile and the fact of my urination.
~ * ~
The Passing Misery
And that is what it is. It can be nothing else. It is the passing misery.
I've figured it out.
I've figured it out.
I'm the fool with a brain that works all right.
Food feeds the synapses. My mother told me that. So understand this— Listen to your mother! Eat