Linus/autumn/roncesvalles

Linus had spent the previous two hours hollering at me, bombarding me with meows. I was content to meow back at him, mimicking how pathetic he was sounding, but then that was getting old after about twenty-thousand meows and i had to ask him what his fucking problem was, and then it took the rest of the time to figure out that his food was gone and perhaps he hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours.

I am so unqualified for cat ownership, but i am doing it anyways.

Food and water are pretty much the only things you need to keep on a level for maintenance of catss, and i seem to be able to not even do that much, sometimes.

My behavior is acceptable for the time-being because Linus is eighteen goddamn pounds, after all.

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I know that it is the autumn now, because i am no longer in the mood for exercising or maintaining cats or myself or anything else, but i am constantly in the mood for sleeping and eating pasta, or chocolate, or other things with sizable portions of unburnable carbohydrates and refined sugars.

Also, there are a lot of grey skies and cool days and malaise about working and feelings of monotony, and i think that these are also signs of autumn. Although those last two might be signs of the other three seasons also.

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The Roncesvalles Polish Festival taught me that i would like to own a singing bowl. If not a Tibetan singing bowl, then perhaps a Polish-Canadian singing bowl. If i were to own a singing bowl, i want to be able to keep on wearing dumb jeans, and not monk robes.

The Roncesvalles Polish Festival also taught me that it is totally alright to smoke pot while hanging out at the local bar or walking down the street or while shaking hands with policemen, which is sort of surreal to an irreparably browbeaten American such as me. There is so much potsmoking going on compared to anyplace i have been before. I am usually ashamed to admit that i have never partooked, even though it is dumb to be ashamed. It was mostly because i am from a smallish town and did not have friends except for Adam, who did not have any friends except for me, pretty much, but also because i was never very intrigued probably because i was brainwarshed by Nancy Raygun. Nowadays i am old and completely indifferent to the pots, and i write the whole process off as youngins being kooky and wanting to force a point with society and be nonconformists, which i empathize with, but maybe i am wrong and it is more that they like the 'high' feeling that it gives them instead, whatever the fuck that is who knows.

I am only intrigued by psychedelics, nothing else, because the only thing i value is epiphanies. Maybe i will store horseshits in my bathtub so that i can make my own psychedelics mushroomss and find euphorias and be weird in very enigmatic new ways and be in epiphenets, except i bet that the stench would be awful but maybe it would still be worth it.

I actually read up on the LSD a few months ago and it doesn't sound as risky as everyone was making it out to be, so i guess that if i run across a natural bag of LSD, replete with shoulder strap, while driving to work or walking to the coffee shop, i will pick it up and take it home and put it in my refrigerator and consume it on a Friday night, or however you do the storage and timing, but otherwise i am too jaded to bother with asking people after it and spending money for it, especially since it will doubtlessly catalystize my fucked brainmatter and claim the remaining forty years of monotony that life owes me, for sure. I do not want to go to the mental patience place yet because i want to see Fight Club II first.

But maybe fuck all, if you've got the Jack and Tanqueray.

-[-

I am tired and am going to carefully insert myself between a mattress and a comforter, which is a cute name for a blanket, which i use to suffocate myself which is necessitated by avoiding Linus' noses and tongues at 3:00Am.