072718 “I’m going for a walk” can be a statement of delirious optimism, or it can be a pronouncement of weariness with the world. Most often, it’s something quite in between. SO, now, I understand why I go for walks. It’s to clear my mind, keep my heart beating, you know, just the base level of exercise. And apparently, that’s also why I do this. I just want a computer that doesn’t always fuck up. I just want a computer that doesn’t always fuck everything up. I just want a brain that doesn’t always fuck everything up. Oh lord. Here we— Anyway, let’s see... “Anything at all that isn’t pure nonsense.” Ok, ok, mind’s a blank blank blank... Truly have no idea right now. This is why it always failed in the past. It was like quitting smoking. The first couple of days are ecstatic! And then routine intrudes, and Schand-Jack has to be convinced (again!) of the value of the nothingness. And actually, let’s be fair, Schand-Jack has always been pretty supportive. He gets it, even if he doesn’t quite *get* it. It’s actually Icoul who gets pouty and says things like, “the magic doesn’t work” and other such dumb stuff. And Schand-Jack can roll his eyes a little, but he’s a decent sort of guy and he loves Icoul, and so he tries, to a probably more than just barely reasonable extent, to remind Icoul that it’s OK, it’s OK to wait and just walk and meditate and be in it, but you know, if Icoul is *not tryna hear that* then there’s only so much anyone can do. Like Schand-Jack’s always said, giving massages isn’t any fun if it’s all just damage control. And so they break up again, in a maelstrom of discontent. But this time it’s a little different, because they went and talked to Dorothea. So this time, if they end up breaking up again—out of apathy, out of impatience—then we’ll know it really is time for them to find someone else. And sure, I guess that would be a little bit sad, the same way the sunshine is sad when you’re just a few too many degrees above that perfect 75. So. Let’s see. We’re walking along, and everything is perfectly boring. What to do, what to say, what to hear, what to think about? You could try hearing what you hear. I hear a weird scraping noise. What? Well it’s like the rubber soles of Celeste’s canvas tennies as we all scuffle along down by the old river. The way the gritty layer of time, the gravelly crumbles of the ages settled down over the cobblestones go skrit skrit skrit with every little perfect step she takes. Boy she’s in a foul mood. Her legs are still shiny and hot as hell, but you don’t dare talk to her right now, so you just thrum and thrill a little bit in the steaming stew of not having permission. And you walk along behind, with your own little bit duller sounding footfalls, skrap, skrap, skrap. What else? I hear the occasional punctuation of a barge-sent wave against the ____. What are those things called? Those man-made concrete/cobble/iron structures that bulwark the river, keep it going downhill, as if it needed help? Those minute particles of man-made rock that hold up an entire teeming, tumbling city? Everything’s going to be washed away soon enough. Just look at how tiny are the giant edifices we’ve built against that inevitability. We’re funny. We really are. Um, sure. What do those occasional waves sound like? Just tell me straight. After the thrum thrum thrum rumble deep in your throat of the barge has almost passed, the waves come. Slurp, they go against the bank. Their white noise breaks in contrast to the forever darkness of the river water. You can’t see through river waves. Anything could be down in that water, anything. This walk made my back hurt and my eyes squint, but at least I got out of the house for a minute, and at least I can say I did it. You got to get through these dumb and stupid days if you’re ever going to get back to christmas at the Bothy. You can’t get to effortless without some effort. Someone said. And then I punched him. Fifty one seconds ago, I was a man. Now I’m a girl. Oh how I yearn for the days when all I had to say was fuck me. Whatever. It’s getting to be pretty close to pure nonsense again. Why is that? Let’s examine the reluctance, the familiar reluctance, shall we? What is it in response to? Seeming dumb? Feeling overwhelmed because you understand the little bits, but still don’t see how they’re ever going to go all together? That’s because you’ve been out on your own for too long, and not for long enough, I’d wager.