I saw you from a foreign window
Bearing down the sufferin' road
You were carryin' your burden
To the palace of the Lord
To the palace of the Lord

VAN MORRISON, ‘FOREIGN WINDOW’

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Well,  L called me first this morning.

The morning of my...yikes..45th birthday....

S. texted me, but was foiled by L.It seemed to mean alot to them, who was first...that makes a brother feel loved, to be an object of intense sibling rivalry.

“Hi Jimmy! What do you want to do today?,” L. said o,n her friend’s cellphone. Her phone had suffered a slow hard death, due to being in L’s sports bra for a 10 mile run. “Fuckin thing stopped working, but it  is beepin all night!Beep! Beep! Beep! Kinda weird.” She was walking Georgie as she spoke, so an idea came to me.

“Let’s go for a walk with Georgie, “ I offered. It was 7 am. My neighbor Robert Frost had woken me at 6 am in a stuporous condition, begging cigarettes and an audience for his pity party. Once again, he 'd taken a spill off the well-know "wagon"...

Gotta admit, a lot to pity there. I did, for a while, then I got over it..

“Guy’s on his way out , make no doubt,” whispered my upstairs neighbor Sarge. He had his toilet paper and his towel, and was heading downstairs for a shower. He cackled softly.

“I shall miss him,” I said with utter irony.

“Mmmm. About as much as I miss that fat old fucker, George, “ he said with a wink. George was the old ex-con who'd occupied the room before Frost. A good friend.

…………………………………

L said, “Terrific , perfect idea, Jimmy ! Uh, four oclockish?”

“Wonderful, “ I lied. What the hell was I gonna do all day?

“K, bye. “

……………………………………….

I showered and ventured out for an aimless amble. Not entirely aimless: I wanted to sit in the sun a bit, to keep up the negligible tan I’d acquired with L. and the New Guy  on the Cape cod beaches. Reading Robert Bly and spying on bikini girls. Perfect weather .

Oh it was more than a lecherous  endeavor . It was somewhat of a reemergence into the world, under an encouraging sun. Got out of this room. Got out of town. Saw what is referred to as ‘real  people’, and even talked with a few.

I chose the park next to the library to settle down in for awhile, with my bookbag which seems to confuse people so much that I refer to it as my “purse” or “man purse”.

I plopped down.The grass was lush; it felt good on my naked legs.

There is a stone wall adjoining the sidewalk, where people sit. Have sat for decades…chilling out. Aha:there was Santa Clause/aka Walt Whitman, whom I’d met at the library yesterday. Reading a book. Red t shirt, white beard down to his nipples. No mustache, though, and for the life of me I cannot remember his reasoning behind that. He'd explained it to me after recounting a few life experiences. Guys like to chat me up. I gotta be careful or I will get stuck in  conversations of  endless sententiousness.

And :there was the guy with an utter carbon copy of Georgie Puppy, on the wall, also reading a book. The dog was magnificently patient, seemed proud and honored to just sit there with his master. I wish Georgie could learn such manners.

Older guys. Sort of fatherly.

I recalled Bly in Iron John:

"In our time, when the father shows up as an object of ridicule, or a fit field for suspicion or a bad tempered foulmouthed fool

or a weak puddle of indecision

the  son has a problem.

how does he imagine his own life as a man?"

...................................

Til today, til my recent trip to Cape Cod, I'd accepted this destiny:

to grow old and eccentric and somewhat visible,

known but not really known well,

here in my hometown 

  a happy hermit...

as long as my curly hair doesnt leave me...

...............................................................

Yeah but wait..that is not it. Not enough.No way...

(I said this in a whisper to myself)

(Blame that blazing sun putting thoughts in my poor head)

………………………………………

On the hill I had a good view of where I’d been arrested in 1999 for…oh, a serious crime. I often enjoy coming to the spot, or near it, just to rub it in whomever’s face that I am still a free man. Yet..i kept feeling this creepy  thought that I was gonna be harassed for something. Nobody was around,so I took off my shirt and “soaked up some sun” as Dad would put it..

Me and the sun have a good understanding. It zones me totally out. All I must do to propitiate it is put forth my face, and whatever other flesh that needs her tender healing.

When i need time to stop. Stop dead...I worship the sun.

I took a Newsweek magazine out of my purse. There was a baby with some French fries on the cover, saying, “When I grow up I am gonna weigh 300 lbs. HELP!” Disturbing stuff.

For God's sake,why the hell did I bring bad news with me? Am I addicted to it, as someone once said? I put Newsweek back and opened the paper. Seems a monsignor of the Catholic church is being charged with covering up sexual abuse: the first felony brought against a higher-up. A landmark case!

That was ironic.

Considering where I was.

I eyed the spot, and the usual rage built up , but subsided with a forced sigh. I sigh a lot. And sneer. I sneered at the f-ing spot.

Someone stole a Salvador Dali! Just walked into the “Venus Over” gallery in Manhattan and snatched it. a 1949 painting--- Cartel des Don Juan Tenorio. Ha.

What the f. is it?

…..sea levels in California will rise 6 inches by 2030… melting ice sheets, climate change, etc. and by 2100? 3 feet higher…..damn fool idiot Raffaello Foieri , who blew it with the divine Anne Hathaway due to jail time for “fraud, money laundering”, is out of jail and telling People mag how  he blew it…..

Elvis’s crypt?it has been decided not to ofer it at auction. He  was there for 2 months only, til he joined his momma at Graceland. I never knew they'd dug him up . Anyway, the crypt is empty now.

Oh enough. I am just getting envious and angry and cynical.

[Bridge:]
And if you get it right this time
You don't have to come back again
And if you get it right this time
There's no need to explain

I picked up the Newsweek of march 26. It has a clever theme: all laid out in 1965 style, to honor the show Mad Men...including typeface and ads. Ah, but now what is this?

I threw the newsweek in the air. Really. After this:

The audience  for the pope, in cuba, in march, grew restless waiting for him, and staged a protest by  occupying a church, demanding Benedict (aka Ratzinger, a fellow German but not one of my favorite people) negotiate between them & whoever the hell runs the country.

I was giving you protection
From the loneliness of the crowd
In the palace of the Lord
In the palace of the Lord

The Vatican’s response: “Nobody has the right to turn temples into political trenches…”

………………………………………….

Well, except Jesus and Martin Luther, you old goofball. I thought this was an educated man!

…………………………………………

I sat awhile, dozed, zoned out, and went to Duncan donuts for a medium black coffee.

I went home and half slept til 4 am.

L showed up with Georgie.

Then the mayhem began!

They were giving you religion
Breaking bread and drinking wine
And you laid out on the green hills
Just like when you were a child
I saw you from a foreign window
You were trying to find your way back home
You were carrying your defects
Sleeping on a pallet on the floor
In the palace of the Lord
In the palace of the Lord
In the palace of the Lord
Etc etc...