previous | main | index | next
July 7, 2001
I suffer from writer's block still. What pale light I may possess has scattered. I type these words to stir the spirit.
My July 3rd was spent with a strange cowboy and his wife who greeted me with a hug and a bowl of cherries. We saw the rockets' red glare.
On the morning of July 4th, I opened my back door to let my dog out. There on the step was a black lizard, his back legs blown off as though he had stepped on a landmine. Though he had clearly departed this earth, I snapped to attention and saluted him. I hummed a bit of Sousa as I laid him to rest under the birdbath.
I drove to Houston on the 5th and began a deposition of a plastic surgeon who had treated several men burned at a Zydeco festival. The proceedings were interrupted by an intercom command that the building be evacuated. A brisket had flared in the kitchen and the hotel was on fire. I made a friend that evening.
I have begun a standup comedy act. I am starting with small venues---like elevators. As my co-passengers get off the elevator at each floor and the doors close behind them, they can hear me say, "You've been a great audience!" Sometimes you can really feel the love in the room.
© 2001 by the beastmaster