It’s thrilling to be at home with the smell of freshly washed laundry wafting on the chilly breeze from the open window cross the drying rack to my flaring nostrils. Herr Wolfgang Riechmann’s synthesizers howl in my ears, playfully. In brief, I am happy I am here in this moment. It may be the beer, however.
The río Tíron is one of the last refuges of the European Mink in Spain. We think there are approximately sixty left. Well, Madis thinks there are about sixty left. I think there are less. Most important are females within breeding age. They are harder and harder to find. They are smaller than the males and fall victim more often to the highly territorial and invasive American Mink. Bastards. Well, actually it’s not really their fault, but the fault of the fucking humans who brought them to Europe in the sixties. Bastards.
That being ranted about, this stretch of the river is very calm. I can sit for hours with a pen and journal (a sandwich also helps, plus a bottle of highly potent liquid) and be lost in the current, so to speak.
And right beside where I took the previous photo is:
Ok. I slept. I have no idea where we are now in the dialogue. I was thinking of Melanie. Poor soul. Stupid expression, I know. Damnit… mind … don’t let things escape me.
When we were in New York, in Washngton Heights (I’d mapify that for you right now, but I don’t have the patience), it broke when i whipped her too badly.
We bought the whip in Arkansas, at a trailer shop that shouldn’t have been. It was to be for Corliss and Jayson. Well, that was what Melanie said. It was a fucking joke, like everything about her was. She was pretending. Cunt. Well, we proceeded to the north and fucked constantly on the way. She was that type. Once we reached NYC, and after Boston and another story with John, we found a very comfortable place in Washington Heights. I think Loyal could attest to it.
She wanted me to beat her with this thing we bought for Corliss and Jayson. So I did. Again and again. Of course, since I am an extreme person, it became too much after a time, and the bruises on her back were telling. The cycle went down from there. However, I’d never be here were that not to happen.
I’m not sure why I am thinking about things that were so long ago right now. Bastards… I’ll kill them… They destroyed my life! I think that insecurity breeds a new form of armageddon. Striking out at your friends is never a healthy option.
Oh! The hypocricy! Yeah, I’ve done bad, as well, but, even if I was the bad guy, in peoples’ eyes. In my friends’ eyes, I still see nothing I did that was wrong. Why? Why was I crucified?
Fuck um. We’ll get back to the subject of La Rioja at some point.
But really… why were all of you such assholes? (Christián not included)
