Dog hair streamers are flapping and weaving to and fro from my fan like the streamers from a showroom air conditioner.  It’s no matter really, I just noticed it while interrogating my fan about recent problems.

A new medication that I’ve started, yesterday that is, has today had it’s rather ugly side effects rear their, um, ugly head.  Violent shaking, constant, tiring shaking, violent constant tiring convulsions at that, a stutter and and hiss, puking, much puking, intense body wide pain, inside and out, (I can’t quite place that, but it hurts outside the surface of my skin in parts, an illusion to be sure), and an inability to concentrate;* these are my experience in this later part of the day.  Seeking relief from the shaking, which felt like it was killing me and I’m sure seemed most worrisome to those around me, they being unable to gauge the pain, I took some amount of Xanax larger that that which I’d generally use when the only purpose I have for it is to calm my murderous frustration, yet still low enough that, don’t worry, I’ll be quite fine.  Except that** I’ll sing. 

If something happens which leads to me needing to take Xanax, say someone starting to discuss cultural theory or Marxism near me in anything but laughing, dismissive, “that’s fagtarded” tones, you should xanax me up and ship me off to an open mike singing event, or to a karaoke thing.  I’ll sing Molly Malone, followed by Loch Lomond, and followed even after that by songs I’ve made up, and amongst them somewhere, tearfully, “Tomorrow belongs to me” a song stripped of it’s nazi/cabaret context in my heart.  The songs I’ve made up are usually fake operas, fake country songs, or fake protest songs.  Fake, I say, because they are mocking mimicry of the real thing.  And, with some pride I might say, I can assure you that these are written as they spill from my mouth, without forethought whatsoever.  The pride there is because few believe that they aren’t at least semi-crafted, my rhymes rarely faltering.  Oh, no, truthfully, by “few people believe” I mean my friend Kyle once commented on how cleverly they flow and some shock that I just made them up as I go along.  Kyle being, despite a dear friend, someone I convinced that the actor who plays McNulty on the Wire is an admitted serial rapist who in each episode, facing the camera, mouths the words “catch me if you can” to the police watching it, and who I had to spend quite some time one day talking out of a sudden belief in some crap-fangled 9/11 conspiracy theory based on the idea I think that there were no planes or something.  But still, someone commented on it.

The song I made up today, laying facedown in my bed, bottle of Xanax in one hand, dirty sock I had struggledto remove from my foot in the other, is one that I have had some longstanding plans to create.  Seeking to defame Paul McCartney, (once I was a hard worker in various political organizations: an organizer, a leader so much as such was allowed in the extremely-not-suited-to-my-politics groups in which I worked — these days when I make the rare, pomp accompanied exit from my bed it is to do things like mail an envelope
filled with mustard back to Habitat for Humanity or to defame insignificant musicians I’ve shown no previous interest in.  This is what you have done, rest of the Left!  Though I’m sure no one’s really complaining… I’m so intolerably assholish that my leaving is both a lifting of a burden and paradoxically, unnoticed), I’ve planned to write and release a song in his name called “Too many homos in London”.  I wrote it today, by which I mean sang it while half asleep (I don’t write those things down, so like someone else said, I’ve forgot better rhymes than you ever thought of), and too my ears it was beauty.  Purest**** beauty. 

there was more but i need to sleep.

*-And they say the semicolon is dead!  Ha!  Only in it’s proper form, I say.

**-Has “that” passed it’s day in such statements?  I remember in grammar matrices you could remove “that” in that sentence form, (but not this).***

***-Does anyone want a blog filled with strange, jocular(?…!) footnotes about grammar?  I do, I do.  A blog about monarchism, footnotes about grammar, pictures of obese children, video of celebrities crying.

****-To simplify my life and my inability to be attracted to anything, I made myself my own standard of beauty late in high school.  Because my beauty is intense and pure, many others have done the same with me.  But secret people… you don’t know them.  They live in Canada…