Tentatively Horizontal
"Fortuitous Recovery of High-Costumed Remains"
Now I don't feel so good. Of what value is my meditation if it doesn't take away my fear--my cold, unreasoning fear?
It's odd how my fear seems to dredge up a thousand memories--as if readying myself to say goodbye to them. For instance, I can suddenly remember exactly how my mother's post office used to smell. My sister and I used to get off the school bus at our town's post office every day. My mother was the postmaster. The old building was heated by natural gas. The interior was ancient wood, many times painted. There were wanted posters in the lobby. Nostalgia and escapism--only maybe I should be focused on the Now? The Escapism of the Now?
Can't think straight. Just got some more bad news. Vague bad news.
Oh well, it can't be much worse than it already was. No townhouse in a big city, no contract with an art gallery, no famous friends or rich uncles. Back when I used to drink, my predominant mood or emotion when intoxicated (everybody has one) was self-pity. I think Björk should run me over with the Beastie Boys' robot.
Sorry I had to paste in her name with a different font. So lazy. Forgive me, Army of You.
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