91 lines
4.7 KiB
Plaintext
91 lines
4.7 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Boxing Day
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by Patrick Burton
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>>> a cDc publication.......1994 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____
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|____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____|
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Sitting at the computer reading mail again today, like yesterday. The
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account expires in mid-January. After logging off I'll play Tetris for hours
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until I'm so tired I can run away from the curse of consciousness, probably by
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mid-morning. Like yesterday.
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Christmas started with a phone quarrel with the best friend, the most
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recent x-significant other. Stupid like all petty fights; ended by saying "I
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don't want to continue this conversation, good night," and slamming the phone
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down. Five after 12:00.
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Woke about 5:00 pm and opened the presents. Chocolate creme liqueur from
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a friend, a sweater and other clothes from the family. Phoned them in Alberta;
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this year I decided not to go. Not a good time to be with them.
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In mid-February I will be forty-one years old. Still no novel, no major
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publications, "no star/no fuck" as Richard Brautigan had it (a highly positive
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literary reference, that one is).
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Can't forget the New Year of 1990: an A-frame ski cottage buried under
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blankets of snow in the brooding crisp stillness of the Canadian Rockies.
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Drinking $100-a-bottle Perrier Jouet, with a woman I thought would be my wife
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for all our days.
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She wore black silk. She was beautiful, she was smart, she was
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sophisticated and experienced; a hard worker with her own successful business,
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due to inherit several million dollars. She was in love with me. And I was in
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love with her.
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I haven't spoken to her since April of 1990. She gave up.
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It's cold in this room. There are too many juice bottles and newspapers
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not recycled on the floor, the laundry and the dishes need my attention and
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they will not have it today.
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Boxing Day. In a room in old Parkdale in cold Toronto. Not a condo in LA
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where Emmy and Oscar and Grammy awards shine and glitter in the warm glow of
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all the world's imagination.
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Now: I work on computers, small cheap PCs, for a tiny community agency
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helping psychiatric consumer/survivors... crazy people who have little more
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than an assistance check, a handful of pills, too much time, and each other.
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It's a good place and the work is worth doing. It pays, and there is
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freedom to try to help some troubled folks, who very much need whatever hope
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they can grasp. Most days, I just concentrate on doing the task at hand and I
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don't look back.
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But, Boxing Day... time to put on the gloves and go a few more rounds with
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the past.
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"Charlie, Charlie... I coulda been a *contendah*..."
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-Marlon Brando, _On The Waterfront_
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_______ __________________________________________________________________
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/ _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842|
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((___)) |Cool Beans!..........415/648-PUNK|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362|
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[ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/579-2276|ATDT East...........617/350-STIF|
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\ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Ripco ][............312/528-5020|
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(' ') | Save yourself! Go outside! DO SOMETHING! |
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(U) |==================================================================|
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.ooM |Copyright (c) 1994 cDc communications and Patrick Burton. |
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\_______/|All Rights Reserved. 12/01/1994-#297|
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