I realize that Jacksonville has a great artistic community…the only problem is that I am no part of it–or, at least, not a part of any group-ish community.  Then again, maybe I am too old.  I am fearful now that I belong to the same group as the “ex-hippie” that sits next to me every now and again.  He was discussing what he wanted to do with the book, Frankenstein, so, I offered up the absenth that has been yucking up our cabinet.  I figured it would lend his Frankenstein project a certain authenticity.  Also, I have been seeking a new home for it…unable to throw it out, as it was a gift, and it is the real stuff…  I know it will otherwise continue to collect dust in our cabinet; and, well, one just simply cannot have dusty green fairies laying about, and I do not know where else to send the vile vial.  Upon which, “Eh” (I will call him that because it lends a certain hippie-ish ennui), explained to me that he has been a recovering drug/alcohol-user for the last twenty some years.  To which, my response was falsified disbelief–”Really?  You’re kidding!”

I guess we all want to feel as though nobody can suss out who we are, and none of us wants to feel like a type…but, if ever there were a type, “Eh” is a straight shot at a former hippie/Kerouac-deifying, chemically diluted, wanderer.  I could have told him his own story, with most of the details, and in less than twenty minutes.  It made me feel rather badly for “Eh,” and for the next few days I was wondering if I am that quickly/easily discerned by others.  I think I am safe.  Usually, my expressions are random, meaningless, and too confusing for my own mind to dwell on…so, maybe it makes me a bit more difficult to pin down…  

Why did I bring up “Eh”?   Not entirely sure, other than I have reached a state of delusion and exhaustion that is totally impossible with the bottle, and rather requires a set of ill toddlers to accomplish. 

To further confuse, befuddle, and randomize my little episode here, I thought I would add that I am still not certain what I should wear to publicly humiliate myself in.  Heels?  Black skirt?  All black?   Speaking paralysis.  There should be PSAs about that.  Throw in some Plato, mix it up with Wallace Stevens, a little bit of De Saussure, and just enough William Carlos Williams to completely muck things up, and there’s my paper/speech.  Nobility created by a charioteer who drives two teams of horses, one real and the other imaginary.

Also, this week, I have to decide whether to discontinue the Suckmonkey, or to keep it running…   Tough decision.

Pru