Which Is Where We Are Now

GI Senators in the 50s created an every increasing military bases government, leading to a very warlike 2nd half of the 20th century. Actually all the modern wars are result of the explotative capitalist governments since 1850.

That’s what Grandma Anderson and I discuss. I leave to town to pick something up. When I come back grandma has killed herself. A large puddle of bright blood stands on the floor. She lays on the ground. I call 911. I get the hospital’s hold muzak. Then a newspaper lady reporter comes on the phone, one I had met earlier at the hotel. She has come to visit and is at the front door, which explains how she broke into the phone call.

I emotionally yell “Grandma is dead.” She feels bad, apologizes, hangs up, and leaves. Then grandma, with a bright smile, raises her head and says she’s alive. She flexes her body and it seems very taut and fit indeed. And the large puddle of bright blood goes all the entire width of the floor… how and still alive? But this is good. I put my attention back to the phone call. I here a message from a doctor explaining he’s to busy to take any calls at the moment. What?!

I’m in college taking a losy-goosey class on websites. The technology and students are both so green that students just do anything — kind of fumbling around, but not necessarily lazy — and that’s fine. There is an aspect of student government involved; they have some students from my team pose for a cardboard cutout poster to represent something to the students.

It’s the next morning. I’m busy with little things to get ready for school and I’m late. When I get to school I realize I’ve forgotten my books. I’ve also forgot something of Brian’s. Rather, Brian forgot something and I feel responsible for helping him with it. I don’t want to go back and bother with it. “Can I manage without going back just today?” I wonder.

The Asian in our team committed suicide. So, there are more important things than stupid school. I’m early to school. I have gobs of time before class. I’m still deciding whether I have to go back. Meanwhile, I dispose of the guy’s clothes (or my clothes). I throw them on the concrete floor. This classroom resembles a home depot garden center.
Oh wait, they even have a yellow dispensery for clothes. Good, I can put them there. They’ve put an out of order sign on the cardboard cutout and blackened out the Asian

Back in my dorm room, I see they’ve rewritten the html text. It was a big book even before the revision. They’ve added a couple sections on evolution. This is the school’s paltry attempt to address the existential crisis brought on by the suicide. Lame. They are ought give it up and honestly take up spirituality to and completely face the chasm along with the studentry.

Perhaps I do go back. But then, I don’t get the books there anyway or the books don’t amount to much — one of them is for American History (I’m reading Zinn at the moment) .

I’m getting ideas to do things. They are represented as flowers and clothing. I worry about being tied up in them.

I have a knife and cut myself out of them. I see that I have the right to be free and to have an inexhaustible supply of flowers and thread.

I’m hanging around. This nice druggy guy comes by. We drive around a little bit. He asks borrow my car, cell, and some money. He’s just going to take a nap then return them to me. I agree. I take a nap. After I wake up he hasn’t returned with it.

I want to call him but I don’t have my cell phone. That’s when I start getting suspicious. It’s been a while and he’s not back and I have no way of getting in touch with him.

So, I file the police report. I met a woman on the way out. We talk. I’d like to be lovely with her. Then I realize I don’t have a lot of things she’d expect me to have. Then I realize I never would have meet her if I hadn’t been in my situation. At some point we are hanging out in the back of a moving flatbed pickup. She helps explain to new cartography in which earth no longer seems round and explains how atoms become capsulized. I can see what we are talking about scribbled in the air as we discuss it.

I’m at my parents’ home. I bump into Mom; she asks if I’m going to do a specific thing. I’m embarrassed because I don’t have my car to do it. The same embarrassing situation happens with Dad and Brian. It’s getting to he point I’ll need to confess. Then I hear my guitar.

It’s the guy. I go and get my guitar from him. Then he gives me my car keys. Then I go to my room and see my cash on the floor. It’s all returned to me.

We get in the car to drive him home.

“First,” I tell him, “we have to go to the police station to take back the stolen car report.”

“So, you filled a stolen car report on me?”

“Yes… How how does that make you feel?”

“I thought we were buddies.”

“Well I trusted you until I realized I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.”

Then I realized I could have called my own phone to talk to him. Well, it’s going to be hard to have him think well of me now.