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hurricane florence. In the night I rescued ppl who needed their cell phone charged and gave them power and poured them wine and it was a party atmosphere with good conversation and laughter and joy, and everyone fell in love with Enceladus and I told them about Saleem pictured on the side table and no one judged and liked Saleem, and the night generated by light from #103 was much fun...
Charles Pearson shared a live video.
5 mins ·
Well, I thought a hurricane (my first) meant cooler weather and more wind down here, but oh no the humidity is still HOTTER than Hades Even being naked is miserable and sweaty. There really is no reason to get dressed here because you will want to shower “alone-thank you” in 15 minutes. Overall, I prefer California earthquakes. No warnings, no waiting...It just happens in the blink of an eye. The earth opens and swallows you or you skip over the hole and keep going with your headphones blasting…
It is weird that the only person in Florence who thinks he understands me is a skinny 18-year-old pale-skinned high school senior with pimples and messy blond hair because he hates his high school like I did (save Willie Mack Larrimore & all of his promises) and the atmosphere. He's a cool kid who plays piano. Though I laughed when he told me it was Christian music and my reaction, which I apologized for, made him blush.
As the mother of storms, Hurricane Florence, approaches the Carolinas coastline projected as a category 4, every store in the neighborhood of Cherokee Road not far from the coast: Piggly Wiggly, CVS, Walgreens, Dollar General, B&P, DollarTree, Discount Bread Store have sold out of bread. Walmart is on the edge of town and too far to navigate without a car and transit to get there stops running at 6 PM. Besides, I am not a fan of shopping or Walmart.
However, I have plenty of wine, coffee, rice, beans, tomatoes, flash lights, candles, batteries and, our favorite, vanilla cookies mildly heated (20 seconds microwave), served and dipped with your fingertips delicately into a small glass of milk one at a time.
I am excited about the storm I need to kick me in the ass to write again...
I experienced my first blackout last night while in Florence, SC, the place I am supposed to be writing, but instead I was watching The Inheritors Part I.
No one is truly prepared for a blackout, which comes like an unexpected thief in the night.
During the outage, I was reminded of my grandmother’s saying, “tomorrow is not promised, so do it now…”, which used to irritate the hell out of me as a boy because she was always saying that, always using old wife’s tales and Bible quotes along with an occasional “switch” broken from a bush to keep us three boys in line.
Then there was that end of the world stuff she frequently used to put the fear of sin and God in us. So in our bedroom at night my middle brother and I planned how we were going to find a place to hide and stay together when fire and brimstone came, and we would avoid all that chaos the rest of the world had to suffer.
When I think of my second (middle) brother now, I realize there was a time in my life when I did appreciate family very much.
I had flashlights, candles and battery backup for the cellphone, which I played on for a minute a two, sending silly messages to SK. But I am so not a devoted mobile user. I don’t like the small screen and hate having to wear my glasses to view it and, #2 and #3, I simply don’t understand the cellphone, nor do I want to figure it out. Sometimes, I believe my cellphone is a monster with its own private thoughts because it does things I never intended. I have no control of it.
I am old school about some things including music and “The Edge of Night”.
You could say I fell in love with the computer more than any of man’s other inventions and go a little mad without it.
That’s something I got to work on, something I got to get over and improve to avoid all that fire and brimstone when shit happens...
In the quiet morning after walking there is time left to play before I slip into a fantasy world of writing, and Charles no longer exists because I am a slew of wacky fictional characters.
I have truly enjoyed myself the last few days about Florence, South Carolina. It was almost like the time when I was a boy growing up with grandparents some 40 miles southeast of here, and I was the only one in that world with them save for my dog Brownie who was always there watching, waiting, and that tail wagging every time I looked at him. This weekend I discovered some new exciting things in Florence, SC, I didn’t know existed. I cannot reveal them because I wish them to remain a secret, and they will.
I believe Florence in August is one of the hottest places on earth just from the humidity alone especially at mid-day and times after that up into the night. In a town so hot I have not written as much as I planned this summer…but there is a constant reminder from my computer and mobile each day, so the thought of writing never leaves. Eventually, I either sit still to write or play with photos turning them into an inner story few know how to interpret, and I enjoy that. Thank God, for air conditioning. In place like Florence, SC, the town is much cooler for walking at 6 a.m. to 9-10 a.m. Being outside anytime after that Florence is a hellish place at best not visited.
It is that time of the year again, the second one, when Saleem slips away. For him and all Muslims, I wish a happy 1Eid al-Adha (Arabic: عيد الأضحى, translit. ʿīd al-ʾaḍḥā, lit. 'Feast of the Sacrifice', [ʕiːd ælˈʔɑdˤħæː]), also called the "Festival of Sacrifice" celebrated worldwide each year as the second of two Islamic holidays (the other being Eid al-Fitr), and considered the holier of the two. It honors the willingness of Ibrahim (Abraham) to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God’s command.
With so many pictures I have of New York and Westchester county and up to Albany as far back as 2008, I am finally getting around to seeing all of them, deleting and fixing pics I have never posted.
Weekend (Aug 18/19) updates:
It is probably a good night to write or at least think about writing with the covers pulled over your head. Though I confess it is difficult writing or even thinking in a violent thunderstorm with sharp lightning flashing through the window every 3 minutes. The ceiling fan slows, stops, then turns and the lamp blinks on as if controlled by a ghost. The internet goes in and out. No connection. So, you don’t use it during the storm.
Outside car alarms echo in a parking lot. You’re alone and afraid that one moment without communication, without the internet you feel totally alone. Has the internet become your new best friend in a place like this? I wonder…
It is a dark and stormy night. A cliché that reads better than living it.
I am tempted to retreat to the bathroom. There are no windows in either of them, just a ceiling vent you click off or on for air. Yes, I could shut the door in there…sit in the tub with my head covered until all that thunder and lightning subsides.
In the living room the fish (Caleb--so named after Steinbeck’s Caleb Trask in “East of Eden” --and Draper, Swifty, Cliffy named for Henry Slesar characters—three lawyers--on “Edge of Night”) don’t seem to notice or even care about that sound disturbing me so or their own light going off and then back on. What do they care since I'm seen as their food source and probably nothing more...
Silence in the house is broken by rolling thunder that makes me shudder, wish I wasn't so alone. I am in the middle room sitting on a sofa, looking into space and listening to thunder and four clocks ticking in the dark hall like somebody’s heart. A nervous, sweaty person waiting to come in. The clocks represent Time Zones for New York, San Francisco, Rome (Italy) and Peshawar (Pakistan).
The blue lights are steady now on the Wi-Fi box. I get up, shut the door and lock it. Then return to reading a Post article I started by Steve Cozzo about New York’s 40+ rooftop bar and restaurant establishments. Cozzo writes that “for a world-capital city, New York was long embarrassingly low on open-to-the-public views. We had the Empire State Building’s and 30 Rockefeller Plaza’s observation decks, but the loss of Windows on the World, and the closings of several Midtown restaurants, left us with precious few high perches from which to enjoy the skyline, the harbor and the boroughs beyond.
FAVORITE POST HEADLINE TODAY
"Pantless doctor busted..."
Today’s new towers proclaim New York’s extreme turnaround from the rotten-apple days. New data by NYPD CompStat showed a decline in homicides from last year’s 167 to 161 through July 22 in 2018. The 4.4 million New York City residents with jobs last year was the all-time high. Our 4.5 percent unemployment rate is the lowest since 1976. Nearly 63 million visitors came here last year, up 2.3 million over 2016. (Presumably they were drawn by more than pharmacies and ATMs.)
Nowhere is all this more gloriously on display than from high-up vantage points. They reflect a city rightly in awe of itself, no matter how much sniping the idea draws in some capitalism-hating precincts. They celebrate a mostly marvelous urban transformation that residents, workers and visitors thrill to see with their own eyes.”
An article such as that will delight President Trump because “he’s responsible” for everything good. So righteous our President, America’s most valuable player in any storm.
For breakfast on Saturday morning or early afternoon, depending on when I get out of bed, I am most fond of cereal & milk, two over-easy eggs sprinkled with herbs and shredded cheese on top of tomatoe slices. All this and three shots of Seattle 6th Ave Dark Roast coffee with brown sugar.
Caleb's South of Eden
On this occasion, I stay in the kitchen and read a book at the counter while I eat just after feeding Caleb and the Neons.
This morning Caleb is active, full of energy and swims swiftly to the glass to greet me with that dance he does to get me to drop pellets into the tank. By now he is almost to the point of taking the pellet from my finger. One Neon has caught on to this interaction between finger and Caleb and he or she swims up the top to join in. Though, I’ve determined I need to crunch a pellet down even smaller for Neons to chew like Caleb. I am unsure, however, if Neons chew. They only seem to swallow greedily, where as Caleb’s lips protrude when he’s chewing a pellet or a tiny dry shrimp before he swallows. Unlike the Neons who eat fish flakes falling into the thank greedily, Caleb is picky and not so fond of fish flakes.
So, I am finishing up Cannery Row by John Steinbeck. Steinbeck, Hemingway and Bronte are the only writers I can tolerate when I am writing or between writing. I have grown particularly fond of all of John Steinbeck’s work.
I like this passage very much in Steinbeck’s Cannery Row from Chapter 22:
The Setup: (Henri has just lost another girl. His girlfriends always leave him after living with Henri for several months on Henri’s boat that is cramped—to cramped for two people—, has a low ceiling you’re always hitting your head and no toilet. Though Henri is sad that Alice, the last girl, has left, he is also rather relieved he can now stretch out as he pleases, eat what he wants and be free. Yet he mourns for a while after being deserted from the absence of female companionship and buys a gallon of wine to get drunk. While drinking he cried sometimes being all by himself but in the end, he gets a wonderful feeling of well-being.)
"It was during this his ritualistic mournings for the lost of Alice that the strange thing began to happen. It was night and his lamp was burning and he had just barely begun to get drunk when suddenly he knew he was no longer alone. He let his eye wander cautiously up and across the cabin and there on the other side sat a devilish young man, a dark handsome young man. His eyes gleamed with cleverness and spirit and energy and his teeth flashed. There was something very dear and yet very terrible in his face. And beside him sat a golden-haired little boy, hardly more than a baby. The man looked down at the baby and the baby looked back and laughed delightedly as though something wonderful were about to happen. Then the man looked over at Henri and smiled and he glanced back at the baby. From his upper left vest pocket he took an old-fashioned straight-edged razor. He opened it and indicated the child with a gesture of his head. He put a hand among the curls and the baby laughed gleefully and then the man tilted the chin and cut the baby’s throat and the baby went right on laughing. But Henri was howling with terror…" --John Steinbeck, Cannery Row
I am amazed by the modern world. I can chit-chat with my boyfriend thousands of miles away while reading Steinbeck, eating breakfast and occasionally watching Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Though, I confess it is hard to take my eyes off Lee Philips. I love the way he grins, love it when he plays bad as in an episode entitled Deathmate.
Philips plays Ben Conan, a slick, good-looking con-man, good at everything he does including making love to another man’s wife while a drunken husband sleeps and then a very clean murder.
Pride-less in Florence
San Francisco is buzzing with PRIDE celebrations all weekend. Last year, I lived in the heart of all the festivities at the foot of Leavenworth Street and there was no way to avoid it.
Here in a town like Florence there is hardly anything visible to denote PRIDE. The only thing I’ve seen downtown was two small flags on a counter in the Public Library to promote LBGT books to read. Nothing at all like high-spirited San Francisco and New York.
Who's the one you're clinging to instead of me...tonight.
It is funny when I think about last night and a black notebook and yellow pen I took to bed and never got around to drafting the rest of Moses’s story because the phone rang. It was a number I recognized, so I answered the phone and never got around to writing until this morning.
If you believe in Magic as I do, you could say it was Moses, the kitten drawn out of water, who inspired me to finish the bed. A metal platform frame with headboard that arrived last month in May in a box (from China) with more pieces and screws than I cared to see
Seeing all those pieces was terrifying enough. I decided then to let the bed stand against the wall like a picture of city skyline until a friend who is more mechanical than I arrived in July from San Francisco. He likes doing that kind of thing and does them with ease. I could wait that long for a proper bed to sleep in since it was already June, and July just around the corner.
Until then, I slept on the futon/sofa in the Study or the mattress on the floor in the bedroom or curled up on the love seat in the living room. I can fall asleep about anywhere including a stone bench or so that used to be the case when I was in my twenties and thirties spent entirely in San Francisco.
I fell asleep less on the futon with Moses here since Moses occupied the futon full-time at night in stunning positions while I worked at the desk or just browsed the internet. By the time I was ready to sleep, which occurs as deep as being sedated after one glass of milk, little Moses was sleeping so nicely on the futon that I hated to disturb his sleep. Though, once or twice from the drowsy effect milk puts me under I just curled up with Moses right there on the futon, and he opened his eyes for moment, stretched and went right back to sleep.
Then one unexpected night Moses led me into the bedroom to “make my bed”. While Moses snooped everything I had pulled out of the box and now laid out on the floor I had to keep lifting him out of the way while I put the pieces of the bed together, which was like an outline or like drafting a manuscript. First, you must lay the whole thing out to see the whole story or outline and then your construct or make necessary changes as need be. Otherwise, if there is no outline you stay on page one for centuries without progress. Somehow, the combination of the spirits of Charles and a kitten named Moses in that room worked magic. In no time I got the bed done...