Raquel, taken on a date-night last week, or the week before, at Kruder & Dorfmeister and Thievery Corporation.
The connective tissue, of course, between my last two posts was me dying in my sleep. Now, a third - loose, dense, and adipose - completing the trilogy.
The night before last I went into the city (where I live that means SF, my NYC friends would laugh) to meet an old friend, coincidentally from NYC, and Florida before that. We left "the city" and went to a somewhat famous steakhouse that's been in operation since the Golden Gate Bridge was built - Buckeye Roadhouse. We ordered expensive cocktails and ribeye steaks, while we discussed the acquisition of either phenobarbital or pentobarbital. Our choices seem to be a Mexican pharmacy or a disreputable veterinarian.
We discussed other things, also. The conversation circled back to suffering and how to either face it or avoid it permanently. We came to very few conclusions. It is what people start talking about as they watch their bodies decay and lose their vitality. Well, men do. I don't know many women who discuss these things, or at least not in the same way. Women do yoga and brunch, this somehow allows them to stay connected to their lives. Well, some of them. Do you enjoy my categorical thinking.
I did a friend's radio show yesterday. It was fun. We talked about soul music and why it has such a powerful effect on the listener. I tried to convince CS to come to California so we can get him on the radio. It's what he needs, I think.
Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology.
I am still in bed. The coffee has been brewed. I can smell it from bed. It summons me upwards, but the body does nothing, trapped in this imaginary liminal space.
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