13 November 2011

Knoxville Anarchist Crucible

Feels like late November. But it is not. I am just wishing it was. I cannot put my finger on it but everything seems slightly off kilter. Maybe it is just the changing of the clocks last weekend that has everybody messed up.

Sonja and I got to the pub at 12:30 today. Parking lot was empty. Maybe half a dozen other people inside. I did not even notice what, if any, music was being played as we ate and drank by the gas fire. By 1:30, when we were deciding whether to have a Bailey's and coffee with a piece of winter cake, the place had filled up like it was Saturday night.

The Hammer still wants to eat an hour earlier than we are ready to feed her. This daylight savings time bullshit has got to stop.

She is on her winter schedule besides that. She likes me to take her for a walk in the evening just before she hits the sack. The black motherfucking drizzle of November was ready for us as we left the door.

As we walked I cleared the clogged catch basins of their leaves. That is what us Anarchists do when we are walking around our neighbourhoods in the dark this time of year, in case you were wondering. We know better than to wait for the government 's street sweeper to make its rounds.

When we reached the park my dog seemed especially alert, stopping here and there, stretching her big muzzle into the breeze. Something was out there somewhere.

At home Sonja gave the Hammer her toweling off. By the time I had poured myself a whisky my dog was curled up with her monkey in the dark.

Sonja is watching a movie on the fucking women's network. Jennifer Anniston. I bet you would like to fuck her just as much as me. Is that not why we watch movies on tv? Just me? Ok.

I have sat myself down in my office. The whisky is at hand. Got WDVX-FM playing on the radio from Knoxville, Tennessee. DJ Wayne Bledsoe is playing a song by David Bowie called "Pretty Pink Rose." Two lines catch my ear.

She's the poor man's gold, she's the Anarchist crucible
Flying in the face of the despot cannibal

Those good old boys from Tennessee ain't what they used to be.

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