The Batman Ring

Messes with my head when I’m up so much earlier than everyone. Kiddo got leapt upon by 3 lbs of black fur at around 3:30 – now kid, dad and aforementioned ball of fur are all nicely settled together in the big bed. Me? Im wider than a stick of gum and had to slip away.

My toenails look fabulous, I want to photograph them, but that’s the same part of me that just spent too long looking for a plastic batman ring I saw shoved on the cat’s ear last evening.

Lets see. What, what? Fourth of july weekend was all the stuff it is supposed to be, more “classic” than any we’ve had so far – kid games at the park, dunk tank with the mayor, swimming, grilling, sparklers, fireworks. Maybe adam’s best holiday to date; Lily really brings out the satyr in him. (Photos in a later post)

There’s a lot of fog.

My stories are getting more compact – working on this thing, thought it was about a whole night, got interrupted, back to it later and I realized it needed two more lines. What, maybe 400 words? But sometimes you WANT something to be sex but instead it’s about moths and alcoholism. It’s voice work, I think. Anais Nin crisis – I go back and forth between Henry & June and her erotica, and try to figure out what she was trying to figure out – the journal voice turning to the writer voice. Henry figured it out, or maybe he just said fuck it. Maybe this is about form. Don’t know. Just know that things that come from scribbles and journal scraps and bundled thoughts fallen from the sky (tied together with cigarette string and stored near the X-files trivia but not too close to the D’inofrio box) shine up into a lot more like my voice than my “this is the story” planned tales. It’s like I put on my fancy writing hat – I dont write anything fancy, but the voices are distinctly different… bridget’s voice is the only narrative voice I like, and its just (to paraphrase andrea speaking of something different) the out loud version of me. We’ll see how all that pans out.

these are good thoughts to have while it becomes daylight and the fog refuses to burn off.

If i had the batman ring, perhaps the answers would feel closer.

Too many books on the side table, but I guess it’s good –  I can say Fuck it to the voice earwhig and listen to other voices for the moment. Ahem, allow me to catalog : Knockemstiff, By the Time We Leave Here We’ll Be Friends, Clown Girl, Henry & June, Sexus, Erotica by Anais Nin. Thats an impressive table. If the PBS schedule and One Fish Two Fish weren’t amongst the pile it would be downrigh hip – and no doubt a calculated lie of a pile.

But this is not about the table. This is about the Warmed & Bound Release Party, isn’t it? No, maybe it’s about the Booked podcast that terrifies me to no end. I shall ramble in new and horrifying ways, and I am AFRAID. Big mouth, more nervous = more talking.

But the release party is exciting shit. Why? Shoes. Shoes and the 1920s and meeting all these people – I want to know what these typed voices sound like out loud, I want to match faces to stories, I want to hit on waitresses dressed as flappers.

I want a pink bandanna for my pirate costume, and to FIND THAT BATMAN RING!!!


an organic dream recasting of Henry & June?

copy & paste from email to andrea this morning:

“it’s largely faded over 2 hrs of morning things, but to tell you before it ALL faded…
dreamed you and i went to n— to see m—, and somewhere along the way in the arrangements he came to believe WE believed he was very poor and not doing well, through rumor or intuition or paranoia, not clear. only that when we arrived everything was fine and welcoming and very not awkward and we all seemd to be getting along fine, then little by little we began to notice all these ridiculous over-obvious signs and fronts he was putting up to show in what he thought was a subtle way that he was NOT in fact poor, or starving, or failing, but doing quite well. like, the apartment was just a regular apartment, minorly cool, average you know smallish with narrower windows, brick outer wall, high up, old wood flooring like in older apt buildings slightly uneven with a creak here and there, imperfect paint that was too bright in some areas from white being touched up, slapdash touchup, pretty wood baseboards but smeared with paint from touch-ups.

the kitchen/living room was divided by an island/bar type with that deep red, flecked-looking old-fashioned linoleum, but i remember a partial wall off to the left somewhere made of different colored translucent glass, and a big greasy-leaved plant in front of it. like things a guy would get to seem hip/domestic. this part seemed slapdash. we had put down our bags and taken off winter coats and you were sitting on the living room side of the island/bar on a tall stool/chair, i was slightly back in the living room settling onto the edge of a red velvet chair that used to be in my grandma’s house – i had time in the dream to absorb all this because m— was on the kitchen side of the bar, bustling around what seemed excitedly, and i was just on the verge of relaxing and thinking it was going to be a nice visit, and looking around (your hair was in a ponytail and you had on big silver rings, i was wearing very tall burgandy boots and a very similiar jumble of rings as yours. the suitcases were near me, they were black and exactly medium-sized and identical.

then m— stood upright on the other side of the bar, and i realized he was very nervous and wearing a dark suit with a bowtie, and holding a bottle of wine – he told us the year of it so that we would know it was very old and therefore expensive – that was when i began to understand what was going on. the round mirror that he’s always had (that looks like the sun) was over his shoulder in the kitchen, but when i glanced back over my shoulder there was a new very large black tv turned off, it seemed out of place like the hip glass wall and plant and suit and bottle of wine…. i got a sinking feeling in my stomach and tried to send you telepathic messages of what i was realizing but you were busy doing the same thing i was – looking around, but you seemed to be getting an odd vibe, too.

he opened the wine and we had it in uninteresting perfectly appropriate wine glasses – no one seemed to want it, it was all show, we just stayed quietly holding glasses and you suggested we go to dinner, mainly to break the silence i think. i agreed, and we simultaneously told him we would treat him to dinner – laughing talking at the same time, ‘let us treat you to dinner’ as a thank you for his hospitality, but he took it completely the wrong way and insisited he could pay, he was angry, he said he was plenty able to pay for us all to go somewhere nice for dinner and he was turned away from us, bustling angry, with all these money things to prove… you and i looked at each other in a sort of “what will we DO?” sort of way, but timeflash and we were walking on the sidewalk in the snow and m— wasn’t angry and we were going to a small bar around the corner and i knew some discussion my mind skipped had mended things for the time being, then we were in a very busy tavernish place with small tables and a crowd and m— was drunk next to me at the bar (for a moment it was a bar in portsmouth, i remember that now the name of it had manatee somewhere in it), his suit sleeve was touching my jacket sleeve and there was a hole in the elbow of his suit and he was telling me he was NOT poor, why did everyone think he was poor, and i knew he wanted me to tell you this, make you understand it, but i also knew you were at a table near the corner and i wanted to stop him talking so we could find you – it gets blurry here, just a jumbled bar scene.
oh my god i understand, i just read henry & june, the whole thing makes sense now…. WOW that was completely organic, how WEIRD……”