I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
Reverse King Midas Effect...
First pet, I think? Was a dog back in Texas when I was a wee lad, and my father was working for U.S. Customs Border Patrol. His name was Jesus, but we just called him Chewy for short. The dog. Not my father. he was tiny and black. The dog. Not my father. I don't know where we got him from. But he escaped. Either that or my mother ate him. The dog. Not my father.
We also had some pet ducks...I remember chasing them around the backyard. One day, I saw my mother running after them. My older brother and father were laughing. Funny thing was that my mother had a meat cleaver in her hand and was trying to grab one of them. I remember seeing the ducks trying to fly. They can't really go that high. Finally, my mother got a hold of one of their necks. My father told me not to look. I did. She walked towards my father with the ducks heads in her hands. The bodies were flapping behind her. I'm not kidding.
My Grandmother, Bubba...I'm not kidding here either - died when I was fairly young. But I remember Bubba staying with us when we moved back to So Cal after she had a particularly nasty fall at her house in Texas. She brought her two dogs with her. Bonnie and Laddie. Nice Collie dogs. My sis, Sindy, wasn't allowed outside because she was a wee bitch and would get knocked the fuck out by the dogs whenever she stepped outside. Eventually we had to give the dogs away. Bubba cried. I was sad. My mother was still around and was probably mad that she didn't get to eat them.
After the divorce and when my father was single, pets were out of the question. All of us kids would've been too, if he could've gotten away with it. No dogs. No cats. Even though we lived in a neighborhood around horses, ponies, more ducks, peacocks, skunks, possums, crows, and coyotes. We eventually got a couple parakeets, which my older brother let, fly away. We had a big Oscar fish that ate all of the others. We had Neon Tetras that got sucked up in the water filter. We had an Angelfish that stuck it's fucking nose up to the heat lamp and got stuck up to it, burned, and then died...My mother wasn't responsible for the death or consumption of any of these. She was too far away. Thank god. I'm not too keen on eating things that taste like aquarium water.
All attempts to get a dog were shot down by dear ol' dad in my teenage years. I did have a lizard that we captured in the backyard and put in a tank, but then we went on vacation and I came back to watch all of the ants crawl out of his eyes. His name was Snake. I named my lizard, Snake. I call my penis a lizard now, though. So I guess it all makes sense in some weird way...I think.
When I moved out on my eighteenth birthday...Oh wait, did I say moved? Sorry, I meant to say when I got booted the hell out of my father's house, I could own all of the pets that I wanted...but who wants to hear about my young, dating history? I had a lot of roaches in the first couple of houses. They weren't like pets, though. They were like very, very, bad dogs. Just really tiny and a lot scarier. You never have to feed them, though. That's cool. They can be nibbling on your skin flakes while you're eating cornflakes in the morning.
Various roommates had pets, but that doesn't count, because they weren't mine. What was my first pet? MY pet? Besides your mom? I was living at the Amerige House. No, that's not a boy's home or a mental institution - It's just what me and my various roommates called a house that I lived in for two or three years from...19-21. That's when I met Hannah, my roomie April got her. I had a Beta fish that I felt sorry for when I saw it in a Dixie cup at stupid Pet City. His name was Jabba The Fish. I used to keep his bowl by the floor heater when it got cold. A drunk girl kicked him into it. Goodbye Jabba. Hello fish smell for months. Another roommate had a turtle named Melvin? He got wedged under his little floaty thing in the tank. He died. I buried him in the backyard and we had a funeral. I played a song for him on the guitar and tipped my 40 0z. of Coors onto his grave. My turtle homie. Then after the Amerige House, I moved into The dumb ass Streams Apartments and April lived in the same complex. She'd bring over Hannah for visits and then when April broke up with her boyfriend, I had to keep her. The cat. Not April. When April wanted her back, she couldn't have her. My mom either. Hannah the cat was mine.
My older half brother, Chris, and I, were coming back from The Museum Of Tolerance in L.A. Traffic happened to stop on the freeway. My brother started to yell at Chris to Pick it up! Pick it up! Nobody was dancing or doing military drills in the car, so I was confused. Chris got out and came back with what I thought was a little piece of gray clothing. It was a bloody, pregnant cat named now...60. See, I'm clever, eh? Not really.
Anne couldn't keep her cat Salvador when she had to move to Long Beach. So, I had to in this house.. Salvador was big and dumb, but lovey dovey cool for a shit head. I woke up one morning to a jogger at my doorstep. Do you have a black and white cat? I croaked yes and spent my remaining morning hours digging through tree roots in the backyard that I have now. Poor guy. I had to install an electric fence around his grave just in case my mother ever decides to visit me.
Hannah was too crazy to keep inside. So I let her roam around the backyard and the neighborhood. Sometimes I wouldn't see her for a bit, but all I'd have to do is call her name and she'd eventually come back to me and kick back. One day it came to about a week and I started to get worried. She's gone now. Maybe a coyote got her from the park across the street. Maybe it was one of the Raccoons that we have living up in the palm tree. Or the Possum family? I hope somebody adopted her, but I doubt it. You couldn't keep that sweet, little bitch inside for more than a day. Maybe my mom has a cat whistle.
Now I still have 60. Who is dumb. Great, but dumb. Sweet, though. I have Jane, my girlfriend's fat ass cat. She sucks and is the stupidest thing that I've ever seen. She's on a diet. We have a turtle. He's boring. We have plants. I have my friends. They're just about as animalistic as anything can get. I don't have to groom or feed them, they fend for themselves. So it's all Kool And The Gang.
I have my girlfriend. She requires lots of attention..
I do miss Hannah, though.
That's it.
*sniff sniff *
Pigfuckers.
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