Dear Musie,
Would you like to go shoe shopping?
I had just delivered the ball on this long-haul messenger job last month & was onto the next assignment running interference for Cupid when I had this epiphany and realized that I didn’t pack so well… (It was kinda like… well, Musie, remember that one time when I accepted that job as a content creator but I had to resign right away because I didn’t see the irony until a day too late and they wouldn’t change my title because they already ordered the business cards & I just couldn’t find an honest way to give them an honest day’s work as an oxymoron? It was kinda like that…) …but would you believe that I couldn’t find a single red shirt, not even a pair of matching socks, not an article of red in my wardrobe to wear for V-day except a pair of sneakers, an old autographed racing hat, and one of my patches? Neither could I!…shame on me… but I had a few places to be that morning with new faces to meet and I found it a challenge getting dressed. And I was running late again. I woke to Nia with a red rose in her lips, dancing, and Lilly left for work that day in a red blouse and with a bouquet of red balloons pinned on her white lapel and, well, …I should do some shopping this spring or I’ll start sticking out like a sore release finger…—-Nia says, Oh please with the archery…—-But trust me, Musie, she’s been whining too. We’ve been busy & I think she could use some new Tango Shoes—-Actually, I could very easily be talked into a long-weekend-long shoe shopping trip right about now. Wanna go? Nia says she wants to walk & dance in a dead woman’s shoes so I’m going to take her dawdling through all the antique stores & thrift shoppes up & down Hawthorne Blvd. in S.E. Portland… & there’s this one place way out beyond Mt. Tabor, it’s a nice ride; just beautiful when you’re chasing the setting suns around the mountain. Plus I have this one vintage mechanic’s shirt I’d like to put back on the rack. Someone named Bela should love to find it. We’ll go cruising. Ret installed a new stereo in the old hotrod on our last coffee run & Nia found a Bif Naked cassette he left behind in the tape deck. You should see the way she moves when it’s in her Walkman… Thus the shopping trip. Think about it, Musie, & let us know. Ret also left a Bauhaus in the glovebox.
I thought I’d shoot ya a message now that Cupid’s busy unstringing & re-fletching. I’m packing out the trash & laying down cover whilst he packs his diapers & breaks down all that sweet gear. We gotta get moving again. Soon! We’re essentially naked up here hanging out in the park and I see the Silver Lady got herself a new walker now… and more dogs all of the sudden. They’re so majestic… I should like to see her walk them herself sometime! Wouldn’t you?
…I may be writing on the move for a few ‘graphs until I get settled into my next post. The Silver Lady is courteous enough these days to give me fair warning with her postcards of portend, those flocking black birds, before she picks me up for work but I’m never sure how to prepare. Leashes or rope? Strings or fuse? Blades or heels? I like the versatility of a good down vest. It sounds like I’ll be spending some time in the still and perhaps in the cold as well but the view… the view & the quiet could be quite nice from out there. I’ll dress in layers and keep you posted… no new Twenty for a while as we’ll be Oscar Mike… probably won’t check in again until I can see my own breath steaming the arid glass; what a wonderful reminiscence of long lost Home…/ Sai te neve suh /…heh, Musie? I’ll tie up that knot later, too fumbly on the move, esp. while also doin’ all the shootin’…
When we went shooting last winter I helped Cupid to zero his new favourite bow, which, as you know, is a Loaner. He said he’ll re-click it back to Di’s liking before he returns it & I’ll see to it that he does. No worries, we’ll dial it in again to suit her dead eye & I’m waxing up a new string for her right now. She wants to go hunting again next month, no hounds this time. And good thing, I could use some quiet. Sounds like she wants to head somewhere with a grand view to post up & sit tight. Says she’s got something new to share about cover & blanketing & glassing. I expect some tough climbing so I’m packing light. I won’t know how much rope she has in mind until we’re there. I hope I can ruck enough ink & paper for the sittin’. I think she means to remind me that the barrel’s not always so small as shootin’ carp in the park with Cupid. But I can’t pretend to pretend to know what she means to teach this semester because I know that’s how one could get hurt, that’s how the tough lessons get learnt, right Musie? No use gettin’ all presumptuous, chaceor étudiant. Did she say chauffeur? I have to go in knowing that whatever the lesson is, I won’t see it coming until it’s in my quiver. Which will be quite something because I’m not even going to bring it. I lent it out, for now. Cupid was interested in its capacity. Glass is heavy enough as it is and I’m packing 1/3 of a toothbrush in order to hoof more paper so why would I lug weaponry when I haven’t a clue what We’re huntin’? I’m playing it safe this time and ruckin’ more ink & paper & a big scope. I think I may do my share of fair spotting this time, Musie, taking notes & doing some good windage, and let Di’ do Her thing with all the archery & whatnot down in the woods & the weeds…so to speak. You know, I’m still a little sore from the gauntlet run the other week. I’m not sure if it’s from ice hockey, break dancing, or from the lumberjacking, or the abuse meted out by those solid orderlies at the DMV, or from stringing bows & nocking & loosing so many arrows, or from the old bowling injury, but some parts are still black & blue & purple and not working properly. Probably just the deep-tissue stuff working out… Oooh, a salt bath would be fabulous about now… Sorry, Musie, I really don’t whine much these days or rant enough any more. You know my philosopher is dead now so it seems I’ve had double the checking and bouncing to do ever since his crash and lately everyone— Lillith, friends, riding buddies, family, my doctor— is telling me to exhale once in a while. Evidently breathing is good for you. I know you agree but you also admitted that you love it when I rant. And presently, I don’t really want to or mean to. So if I get to whining & ranting again I want to keep it here, with you. I do not want to become part of the noise. I don’t want to make noise, especially when I’m being trained to listen. We can do the Diagnostic Work but I’m trying to figure out what to do with it. I’d like to heal the landscape but the best I can do is patchwork, especially while on the move. We can see and we can write great rants, songs, rhymes, and paint great rages against whatever sights we set on top of our hitchhiker’s thumb. Changing scenery. Where are we going? A road, a vanishing point ahead, a vanishing point behind, gaining again, who’s chasing who? So many cars & so few drivers on the congested roads. And no rides. It doesn’t look right some days. It shouldn’t feel wrong to accept a lift from a stranger but sometimes it does so I’m glad the Silver Lady, or her henchthings, didn’t give me much of a choice that first time… that first night, when the moon was bright and we were already on our way, at speed, I woke up in her co-driver seat long enough to pull an extra blanket over my head because she was driving so fast with the windows down too far & the music on way too loud, enjoying herself behind the wheel and she had no use for foreign course notes from a sleepy co-driver anyhow. So I went back to sleep. She knew where she was going and seemed to know the road. She could see in the dark as I once could (remember when dimming the high-beams for oncoming traffic was a common courtesy?) & the music was good & it was nice to be along for the ride for a change. And warm. Anyone with blankets that nice in the car (and such supple leather upholstery)… I figured she was alright. She even dimmed the dash lights for me. I’ve never had a driver of my own before. I wish (or maybe not) I knew where I was being taken once in a while. I don’t know if I should be so comfortable in being lost, but I am, for now.
So now we’re headed out of town again, not in that much of a hurry this time but soon enough we’ll be back to work. Don’t worry, everything checked out A-Okay at the doc’s; save the deep-tissue bruising and torn ligaments, a sprain here & there & some whining, the doc says I’m in tip-top shape and right at fighting weight, and she liked my new socks. Wool. Cozy. Lilly gave them for Christmas; And our lovely Hengemate slipped a chocolatey stash of Noël à Paris tea into my messenger bag (along with an early draft of her book to proof) during our last visit; and Mom sent me over her threshold last time with a tattered & feathered but lightweight paperback copy of “Possession” (Byatt) as if it is requisite reading ahead of the next mission; plus I have your Yule gifts here, Thank You!, you know the candles & the wick are already packed in my gear but I’m still debating on taking that book along… I should already have plenty to keep me busy on my next sit and that first chapter gave me nightmares about stacks of incendiary paper and flammable manuscripts and wild fire. It’s been a long time, Musie, since I’ve had a good nightmare… so Thanks again.
Well, I will be in touch later, when I’m hunkered down in position and it’s getting cold and I have to keep the ink flowing; even if only a slow drip to keep it from freezing…
I’ll have some stories for ya, Musie.
Until then,
Much Love & Magic,
PSL
P.S.- Remember that word (in this, or any of these languages) I was looking for? What’s the opposite of writer’s block? Hypergraphia. That’s the closest one I could find thus far. It fell out of a book that fell off the bookshelf the other week while I was struggling with my wardrobe, “The Midnight Disease” (Flaherty). I think one of the doctors gave me that book decades ago. There is marginalia & poetry & coffee stains all over it, yet I don’t remember much, if any, of it at all. It’s on the reading list (again). Refresher courses are sometimes necessary. So I apologize! I’m sorry, Musie. Here I thought you were being exceptionally cruel, especially that one time a few years back when you went traipsing, or whatever it is that you do in those shoes, all over Europe for a month or so—- I thought you had left the country and left The Lights On for four weeks straight out of either carelessness (which is perfectly forgivable & understandable in the excitement of being swept away to the S. of France & beyond with Your Lovie, as I can only imagine) or some kind of cruel punishment. But now I see that that was not the case at all. It was my own malady that kept me up for a month that time… well, probably. I mean, Hunter was here that whole time too, so who knows? You should see those margins.