Outside this evening walking around, my black and white coat glossy as ever, I was feeling like a million dollars. Crisp, fresh, night even though the city is constantly shrouded in scents such as the burnt smell of overused train tracks, putrid trash, and cheeseburgers. My paws had a light, confident, gait. The city was beginning to feel like mine, my fate is to succeed here. My feelings of confidence are assured by a black, shifty looking fellow at the bus stop. His thoughts are aligned with mine as he says to me with his Issac Haye's sounding voice when I trot by, "Now there is a pimp."
I walk on to discover a silly man dancing to electronic music on the street corner in front of the Evil Olive. His pupils as wide as saucers and his pants as baggy as a prostitutes private parts, I automatically know that he has befriended a gal referred to as Molly this evening. This woman apparently gives you a euphoric feeling, and a false sense of confidence as seen in this man's fluid idiotic dance moves as he listens to his stereo pounding drum and bass sounds on the intersection of Ashland and Division.
I turn a sharp corner and start to run into a Chinese restaurant that is similar in lights and smells to Super Sub, but I am held back by my Nemesis who clearly has no good taste in food items.
A few blocks down Milwaukee from the corner of Division and I am back where I will be staying this evening, my quarters are sufficient for work I need to complete. I am tired and curled up on the bed, ready to crawl under the covers to the foot of the bed, the best spot for sleeping due to the smell and access of feet. The promise of a new day in this beautiful city is my last thought before I sign off.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Torture
I am dying, of this I am sure.
I am barely able to write these words, I am so weak. This past weekend, I accompanied - nay, chaperoned My Master and My Nemesis as they went to a wedding reception. Not only am I personally against weddings (it's hard to be a farmer when you only sow your seed in one field for all eternity), but this one took place outside, I guess. I was left behind, as usual, only this time it was in a strange house in the forest. I don't mean to condescend, and I realize fully that not everyone can be the former strategic adviser to the King of Sweden and second Earl of York, but I'd have assumed there'd be some caviar somewhere, or at least a gigantic ice sculpture. Apparently, I am not well versed with wedding plans in this country.
Being left behind was actually OK, I was able to get some poems drafted, and everyone returned about 12:30am, when I would go out on the town anyway. The night in the forest, however, was not my undoing.
The next morning, My Nemesis and I were walking through the forest near the big house. We had just taken our breakfast, My Nemesis had been truly lovely (a rare moment for such a rude dullard) and given me some bacon. We decided to have a walk to help us digest. Of course, not two minutes go by and some damn cat sashays onto the trail. My Nemesis, being the buffoon he is, immediately takes me for granted, and picks up the probably disease ridden cat. And oh the smell of this animal! People mention, lovingly, that I smell like Doritos, or socks, or panfish.
This ruffian of the wilderness would need the talents of New York's finest stylists to approximate such an odor, he was so disgusting. I had had enough, and took off on my own. I thought this would work out; we were leaving soon, but had a few moments left, and this would be the perfect time to have a moment alone, and reflect on the poems I had drafted the night before.
Then I saw the red berries.
Perhaps they saw me first, I will never truly remember, but I do know they spoke to me, of this there can be no doubt. I knew I should have consulted a book as to their edibility, but fuck it, I'm on vacation, too, and if My Master and Nemesis are going to lock me in a water closet all night while they get drunk, I'm eating some motherfucking red berries God dammit.
They were so sweet! Before this moment, I was sure that such a flavor could have only come from Chocolate, but I'm not allowed to eat that, and have only experienced its majesty a few times. These were like strawberries dripping with honey. Each bite was more lovely than the last, I thought it was too good to be true, until I found another bush of berries just down the trail! I ate as much as I could, waited to collect myself, and wandered back to the big house, swaggering proudly. They may have had their lovely wedding party, but it was I, Smokenstein McGothlin, who truly had won the day.
Or so I thought.
It was about an hour into the car ride home when it all started. It was a lovely day, but by and by I found myself unable to enjoy it. I began to feel cold, just as my heart began to beat faster. I began panting uncontrollably, even though I was cold. My Master sensed this, and asked me how I was feeling. As if I can reply in a manner she would comprehend. Why they even try is beyond me.
It was as if each mile brought me closer to the gates of hell. I was wracked by spasms, first in my midsection, then out to my toes and nose. My entire body felt ready to convulse, it was sheer mental stamina that allowed me to maintain composure. My stomach felt as if it was being torn asunder, I half expected at one point to have one of Ridley Scotts' puppets burst from my chest. Never have I experienced pain like this. Not even after half the large packet of Tums did I feel this bad. The Cranberry pills didn't feel this bad. Try as I might, there was nothing I could do to alleviate the pain, the horrible horrible pain, that was growing in intensity, as if planned out, as we inched closer to Chicago.
To make things worse, it was Labor Day weekend, meaning traffic was completely backed up. We had to take alternate routes along strange backroads. I barely remember this, I was in such pain, I only remember we began to travel much more slowly, and my usual nasal diet of exhaust was replaced by that of farm animal excrement. I could not longer see straight, I knew only cold and pain, unending pain that tore at my insides like an icepick.
We finally made it home, or rather to the home of My Nemesis. This made matters much worse. Normally, I don't mind his home at all. His home has cable, more books, a kitchen teeming with floor scraps, and a decent record collection, but today those were the furthest things from my mind. I knew only biting, gnawing pain. I was so ill I couldn't see straight. Walking was a Herculean event. I was wishing - almost dreaming - for death.
My Master put me in the bathroom, as I was ill and she wanted to sequester me. How could she do such a thing? I needed embrace and affection more now than perhaps ever before. She kept telling My Nemesis, "I have never seen Mr. McGothlin this ill before, I'm afraid." Well, Master, not only are you right, but I'd ask you to refrain from being so damned provincial about the whole thing. I am not only next to you, but I'm in massive amounts of pain. No, this was it, the final straw. I was in pain, horrible pain, but even I have my limits.
It was then that I shat liquid all over the floor of the bathroom. I made it look like I tried to get it on the rug, but I really did my best to strategically deposit liquid in places most likely to be stepped on. If either of them didn't slip on it, at least they'd step on it. I've had many days, but today, after hell, this dog, had his day. I felt better for a moment, after voiding my bowels, but I cannot say if it was fleeting or lasting, as i collapsed on the cool tile floor nearly immediately afterwards. Remembering the final seconds is difficult and harrowing enough.
....[author's edit]
It is three days later, and I am finally back to a normal diet of braised lamb shank, peanut butter chewies, and baby greens. The past two days were spent in the care of My Master, as she devised some ritual diet for me, in attempt to help me improve my Constitution. After days of pedialite, and this horrible human consumable called "oatmeal," I am better.
I don't know that I will ever venture into the forest unaccompanied ever again. My brief flirtation and love affair with all things rural has come to an end. Sidewalks, fire hydrants, urban liberal elitism, and poetry readings, I welcome thee.
I am barely able to write these words, I am so weak. This past weekend, I accompanied - nay, chaperoned My Master and My Nemesis as they went to a wedding reception. Not only am I personally against weddings (it's hard to be a farmer when you only sow your seed in one field for all eternity), but this one took place outside, I guess. I was left behind, as usual, only this time it was in a strange house in the forest. I don't mean to condescend, and I realize fully that not everyone can be the former strategic adviser to the King of Sweden and second Earl of York, but I'd have assumed there'd be some caviar somewhere, or at least a gigantic ice sculpture. Apparently, I am not well versed with wedding plans in this country.
Being left behind was actually OK, I was able to get some poems drafted, and everyone returned about 12:30am, when I would go out on the town anyway. The night in the forest, however, was not my undoing.
The next morning, My Nemesis and I were walking through the forest near the big house. We had just taken our breakfast, My Nemesis had been truly lovely (a rare moment for such a rude dullard) and given me some bacon. We decided to have a walk to help us digest. Of course, not two minutes go by and some damn cat sashays onto the trail. My Nemesis, being the buffoon he is, immediately takes me for granted, and picks up the probably disease ridden cat. And oh the smell of this animal! People mention, lovingly, that I smell like Doritos, or socks, or panfish.
This ruffian of the wilderness would need the talents of New York's finest stylists to approximate such an odor, he was so disgusting. I had had enough, and took off on my own. I thought this would work out; we were leaving soon, but had a few moments left, and this would be the perfect time to have a moment alone, and reflect on the poems I had drafted the night before.
Then I saw the red berries.
Perhaps they saw me first, I will never truly remember, but I do know they spoke to me, of this there can be no doubt. I knew I should have consulted a book as to their edibility, but fuck it, I'm on vacation, too, and if My Master and Nemesis are going to lock me in a water closet all night while they get drunk, I'm eating some motherfucking red berries God dammit.
They were so sweet! Before this moment, I was sure that such a flavor could have only come from Chocolate, but I'm not allowed to eat that, and have only experienced its majesty a few times. These were like strawberries dripping with honey. Each bite was more lovely than the last, I thought it was too good to be true, until I found another bush of berries just down the trail! I ate as much as I could, waited to collect myself, and wandered back to the big house, swaggering proudly. They may have had their lovely wedding party, but it was I, Smokenstein McGothlin, who truly had won the day.
Or so I thought.
It was about an hour into the car ride home when it all started. It was a lovely day, but by and by I found myself unable to enjoy it. I began to feel cold, just as my heart began to beat faster. I began panting uncontrollably, even though I was cold. My Master sensed this, and asked me how I was feeling. As if I can reply in a manner she would comprehend. Why they even try is beyond me.
It was as if each mile brought me closer to the gates of hell. I was wracked by spasms, first in my midsection, then out to my toes and nose. My entire body felt ready to convulse, it was sheer mental stamina that allowed me to maintain composure. My stomach felt as if it was being torn asunder, I half expected at one point to have one of Ridley Scotts' puppets burst from my chest. Never have I experienced pain like this. Not even after half the large packet of Tums did I feel this bad. The Cranberry pills didn't feel this bad. Try as I might, there was nothing I could do to alleviate the pain, the horrible horrible pain, that was growing in intensity, as if planned out, as we inched closer to Chicago.
To make things worse, it was Labor Day weekend, meaning traffic was completely backed up. We had to take alternate routes along strange backroads. I barely remember this, I was in such pain, I only remember we began to travel much more slowly, and my usual nasal diet of exhaust was replaced by that of farm animal excrement. I could not longer see straight, I knew only cold and pain, unending pain that tore at my insides like an icepick.
We finally made it home, or rather to the home of My Nemesis. This made matters much worse. Normally, I don't mind his home at all. His home has cable, more books, a kitchen teeming with floor scraps, and a decent record collection, but today those were the furthest things from my mind. I knew only biting, gnawing pain. I was so ill I couldn't see straight. Walking was a Herculean event. I was wishing - almost dreaming - for death.
My Master put me in the bathroom, as I was ill and she wanted to sequester me. How could she do such a thing? I needed embrace and affection more now than perhaps ever before. She kept telling My Nemesis, "I have never seen Mr. McGothlin this ill before, I'm afraid." Well, Master, not only are you right, but I'd ask you to refrain from being so damned provincial about the whole thing. I am not only next to you, but I'm in massive amounts of pain. No, this was it, the final straw. I was in pain, horrible pain, but even I have my limits.
It was then that I shat liquid all over the floor of the bathroom. I made it look like I tried to get it on the rug, but I really did my best to strategically deposit liquid in places most likely to be stepped on. If either of them didn't slip on it, at least they'd step on it. I've had many days, but today, after hell, this dog, had his day. I felt better for a moment, after voiding my bowels, but I cannot say if it was fleeting or lasting, as i collapsed on the cool tile floor nearly immediately afterwards. Remembering the final seconds is difficult and harrowing enough.
....[author's edit]
It is three days later, and I am finally back to a normal diet of braised lamb shank, peanut butter chewies, and baby greens. The past two days were spent in the care of My Master, as she devised some ritual diet for me, in attempt to help me improve my Constitution. After days of pedialite, and this horrible human consumable called "oatmeal," I am better.
I don't know that I will ever venture into the forest unaccompanied ever again. My brief flirtation and love affair with all things rural has come to an end. Sidewalks, fire hydrants, urban liberal elitism, and poetry readings, I welcome thee.
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