“Yes”, I thought to myself (hiding the little Yorik skull inside my briefcase. “What am I thinking, prosecuting this woman outside of her own jurisdiction?”
I look back and see the jury again, I mean, the various versions of me and think that I might be having an LSD flashback from when I took that shit on 3 occasions, driving my Mini Morris Van up and down Scotland. But that’s another story. I was 17 years old then.
Now, a week later after my attorney and I decided to drop the case, I found out some terrible things. One, for example, is that the (so called) American Bar Association he belonged to had nothing to do with the Lawyer’s Union. It was, if anything, an association of former Alcoholic Anonymous members who drunk in hiding at some building in lower Manhattan, called the American Bar Association PUB. In there, you could find all the possible and existing spirits in the world. But the spirit I was after, had nothing to do with alcoholic content. I was after a microtonal, minimalist and exoteric spirit (of the spiritual kind) and I was hoping to resolve the question of the lost case and its altered pages by finding a Kabballah-voodoo-umbanda-crystal ball speaker.
I wake up in a panic. Weird dreams. Mother sits. Mother hacks a human being and cooks him. Mother serves the meat in deep round bowls. Mother, well, well…mother nothing! Dead bodies wash up on the beach. Five of them.
From the quality of the sand, I find that the similarities between this picture in my mind and the texture of the sandy beaches in Belmar, New Jersey, are simply astonishing.
After sipping my first espresso of the day, I look out that one window she jumped out of and felt an incredible feeling of solitude.
3 fun (and short) videos to watch: nostalgia, stuff from the past