26 August 2013
A Walk On Bathory Mountain
David Bowie's new record had a lot of people saying it was good as a pre-dawn fuck so I bought it. Double vinyl. May have bought it anyway. The old boys do not make many records any more.
I listened to it a bit at a time, finally finishing this morning as I drank coffee beside a window with the sun lighting up the otherwise dull pages of the Racing Form before me. Was not a song on it that grabbed me by the balls.
Cost me close to $20. I liked the old copy of Bathory's second album I picked up from a thrift store for a dollar much better. Missed out on most of that black metal shit back when it raised its death's head from the grave nearly 30 years ago. Too bad, Bathory fucking kills.
After I had sorted out the horses the best I could I took the dog out. We took our time along a sunny path. Me eating blackberries, the dog sniffing for something to roll in.
There is a section of the path at the foot of the mountain near where we park that skirts an old field we know to be infested with snakes, maybe a million of them. I keep a close eye on the path there so I do not step on a snake thereby giving the slithery motherfucker an excuse to bite me in the leg. When the Hammer spots one she looks at it like it is something that has crawled fearsomely out of Christy Clark's cunt.
While I was looking for snakes a glint caught my eye. The glint of solid gold. A man's dragon ring missing a stone once set in its eye. Heavier than the anchor hanging around Adrian Dix's neck.
Fuck the horses, I have to walk my dog more.