After I left home I did my writing on my kitchen table. The table was yellow, flecked with silver. I used a pen on paper. Sometimes I used a messy old ink pen. That was writing; I was not very good at it but I wrote. I wrote like that for a long time.
Eventually I bought an electronic typewriter. Used it on the kitchen table too. Used it for several years, still worked fine when I retired it. Smith Corona. Good fucking machine.
After that came a word processor. Had to set it up on a desk, a desk I found in a second hand store, in a room I have filled up with books and records. The desk is sturdy enough to hide under during an earthquake. Top of the line word precessor it was. I really liked that machine. I still have it in my house. It still works perfect. It haunts me from its dark corner like a war survived by one's parents. It was nice to have a machine with a big memory because I sure as fuck do not have one. Smith Corona. Great fucking machine.
Then came my first computer. I could have killed that motherfucker. Wrote in the office with it too. Discovered internet pornography. Zoomed in on Margaret Trudeau's rock star trap. My horizons were widened.
Now I have a laptop computer. I did not set up an e-mail account with it. Fuck you all. I can write any place I want to with it but so far I have only written in my house. Tonight the lap top is warming my genitals as I relax comfortably on my sealskin sofa. Could not think of anything to write. Happens all the fucking time.
Sonja was watching CSI on the television. The show was about a murder case complicated by sado-masochism. We get a lot of those in Dope City. Television sure has changed. Used to be the hottest thing on tv was Kitty from "Gunsmoke." When the CSI pigs visit an S&M parlour The Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs" is playing really loud.
It was alright.