Forty-five

I awoke this morning still strapped in the chair. This wasn’t a surprise, though the chair had oxidized more than I might have expected.

I promised myself, when this all began, that I would not panic prematurely. That I would not engage in hyperbole. That I would wait, surely I would wait, until something bad actually happened before screaming out.

Times of migraines

My feet do not always listen to what I have to tell them. In times of migraines, for instance, it’s as though these feet have a mind of their own and yet my mind for its part lacks feet and this soon becomes a problem.

Mostly they seem to want to walk me into a closet.

Into the dark.

And so we have been hiding, my feet and I, for a week now, maybe more – without writing, without keeping in touch, you might have noticed, I don’t really know – but it is not helping. The migraines know I’m here.

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“They flee the light; the darkness soothes their disease; nor can they bear readily to look upon or hear anything pleasant… The patients are weary of life and wish to die.”

– Arataeus (1^st century Greek physician), “Heterocrania”

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A net of stars (the jewels of Naz, part 3)

Now it is night again, so I will get on with what I’ve started:

In my college years, I read practically all of the time, you see, always except when I was sleeping (which wasn’t much) or when I was writing to you (which was more), but practically all of the rest of the time. All this reading had not yet brought me wisdom and had not yet brought me riches, but once, in the moldy dusty cellar of an old world library, it brought me the location of Bostanji’s ancient tower.

The wisdom and riches would come later, in good time, I thought.

Inshallah.

Hide them in the sky (the jewels of Naz, part 2)

Now it is night again and I will get on with what I’ve started:

Bostanji did not have a plan for what to do next, which might be the very best kind of plan, if you think about it. No one else can possibly know what one’s plan is if there’s not a plan to be known.

That’s what I say, and frequently.

Democracite and bobstones (the jewels of Naz, part 1)

I am asked where it was I got all of this sparkly jewelry and my answer is always the same.

Oh, not precisely the same, it is true. Not word-for-word sameness, for that would be unusual, suspect, and in fact a bit creepy. The story of my jewelry evolves with each telling, but the basic framework remains.

Before the story of my jewelry evolves again, I’m going to tell it to you:

Donald, I'm ready

If I were to dress every day the way in which I wish to dress every day, you would think I was ridiculous. Perhaps a bit irrational. Mad.

Don’t you know that it’s not practical – it is not feasible! – to celebrate Life with lavish clothes on just ANY old day? There needs to be some excuse. Something official.

That is what I am told, at any rate. 

I believe Election Day to be such an excuse, so this is what I’ll be wearing come Tuesday.