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I'tr�m breit vula�oz�o ye spalla ei�tlin nel�ffnes pieqi aummit su berwegr'ra'ao.

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Sunday, Aug. 10, 2003 -
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

Okay, lessee...last time I left you, the boyfriends and I were on our way to Hawaii.*

We almost didn't come back.

Nah, not really. But we did seriously discuss the logistics of embarking on our own Endless Summer, sans the surfboards. (To be a bum was one of my most cherished ambitions when I was a teenager.) So when the airline screwed up our reservations for the return flight, we seized the opportunity to stay for two more days of paradisiacal idleness.

Then we came back, grumpily, to the grim realization that we did not have enough idleness in our lives. And in the past three weeks there has been nothing to disabuse us of that notion. I think the word that best describes the last three weeks is �laborious�. Heck, except for the eight days, seven nights in Polynesia, that word best describes my entire summer. In fact, I think this summer may easily qualify as The Summer I Was Sold Into Slavery, Part Two.

Which reminds me, I haven�t told you about Part One, have I?

I should.

~

* Yes, Faustina, people do read during their Hawaiian vacations. Especially during their long flights to their Hawaiian vacations, made more interminable by a 90-minute delay, which in turn was made even more interminable because we arrived at the terminal at least an hour before our flight time, as recommended. But we were three patient, self-sufficient men, undaunted by the Medusan face of ennui. I curled up with a book (Autobiography of a Face, which I finished before we landed in Honolulu. I read Metes and Bounds on the island, it was the perfect beach book. I finished Life of Pi on the flight home. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, which has languished in my To Be Read Pile for years, languishes still.), Jer curled up on the carpet at my feet and fell asleep (using his bag for a pillow) and the Fiend sat and thought. It's one of his talents, the ability to sit quietly and think. It's not meditation, the Fiend scorns meditation, "Why should I meditate when I can think?" After 'bout 40 minutes of thinking quietly, he got out his sketch book and began to draw chairs and parts of chairs embellished with complex patterns that would be delineated by hundreds of nailheads. He's working on a set of four chairs, tentatively titled the Twopenny Suite. Later, when he had lapsed into another still pool of rumination, I borrowed his sketchbook and drew a naked man sitting on one of his chairs, and then I drew a second naked man sitting on the naked cock of the first naked man. (Drawing naughty pictures is one of my natural talents, good enough to get me a job illustrating a sex manual, Simply Sodomy. That�s not the book�s published title, alas. When I submitted my first batch of drawings to the author, he returned some of them with the note "Keep it SIMPLE!" So I labeled all subsequent mailings as Illustrations For SIMPLY SODOMY, which fortunately amused the author. The book worked under that title until a few weeks before printing, but was ultimately published as The Idiot�s Guide to Cornholing. Or something like that.)

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

last eleven:

Resurrection - Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Arts and Letters -
Friday, June 17, 2005
Domestic Obsessions -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
The Kindness of Strangers -
Tuesday, April 5, 2005
Gone -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Coming Back, Little By Little -
Saturday, April 2, 2005
Effing Around -
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Explicably Yours -
Wednesday, February 9, 2005
Things Too Innumerable To Mention -
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Mr. Armstrong -
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Pope in Our Kitchen -
Saturday, October 2, 2004



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Sa r'ji�o oss�vel meninonceiv �o poshik m�'�nch uscantebatahla o�r musiu o�r muiko.
Copyright � 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005 by gcs

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