Flavigula

Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.


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Well into tomorrow night, lucid one
Livejournal
Praha
Usti
Andrew
Jenicek
Christopher
Family
Tue, 05 Jun, 2001 18.34 UTC

First day at work. Sunday was a stupifying whorl of one stimulus after another. I arrived in Prague at about 5am. I shuffled sleepily around the city (from Florenc to Vaclavske Namesti to Namesti Republiky and finally to Masarykovo Namesti) and boarded the train to Usti Nad Labem at approximately 7.30. I had a few beers on the way and struggled down dry bread and salami. I fell asleep on the train and missed the stop. Luckily, the attendant awakened me before the next stop and I got on the first train BACK to Usti (I would have eneded up in Dresden – which would have been a catastrophe).

Being in Usti was nostalgic, sleepy and mostly incoherent though I was. Hela was amicable (as was her Floridian boyfriend) and returned my CDs (in two batches … she had to go fetch what she forgot whilst I sat in a cafe sipping coffee and rum). I got back to Prague at 13.00 or thereabouts.

The troubling thing that I learned whilst in Usti was the fact (maybe heresay? I am not sure, but I am still frightened) that Andrew is in prison. Prison. For 30 years. Fuck. Hela smiled her little smile and said something along the lines of that was the direction in which he had been heading anyhow…

What on God’s Smoky Earth could have Andrew done to land in prison for 30 years? Methinks something concerning taxes, evasion, fraud, and everything else wrapped up in that farce of a company he had insisted on fronting (and Rob backing – where is Rob? Does he know?). The same ‘company’ which enlisted the services of Jenicek and me for about 1 1/2 years. Maybe I should count myself lucky to have flushed myself from the urinal of that establishment.

The highlight of the day was the long, involved conversation with Jenicek over countless beers and vodka. Parallels. Chris calls me ‘brother’. I likewise call him and Jenicek the same. We have, no matter our space and time apart, similar aims, similar thoughts, and – most importantly – similar grievances.

I remember very little of the bus ride back, but somehow found my way (accompanied by two exceptionally heavy packs full of CDs) to my flat and crashed into brief oblivion. Yesterday was spent huddled on the couch at times deep in thought and at other times absorbed in music in which I had not had the chance to drown myself for nearly a year.

I sense the coming of a routine. May it not break me.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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