As I write this, Elam, a weird looking Housefly the color of motor oil, but mostly of a golden sheen, has been tormenting me for the past half hour. Lucky for Elam that I’ve progressed into a philosophy that everything above a bedbug (notice the lack of a capital B there) is holy. Flies just make the cut, above the way they are as infants, yet below your basic Aphid (seems strange I should kill Flies as babies but not as adults–something Herod in that). Elam had no name until he just happened to rest where I left my eyeglasses. Greatly enlarged by one of my lenses, I noticed that one of his many eyes was droopy. It gave him a sinister mein. I do not have much more to say about the vexation called Elam; I do suspect he will still be bothering my screen as I write further, or at least until one of the Cats pinch off something more to his liking, but for those curious about his name, please refer to the clip at the bottom of this post.
This week our friend The Stream of Consciousness (SOC) makes an unasked for return. Now, this time SOC will be edited. No Molly Bloom goingonandonaboutwhatandwho flibberjittishness, nor weirdo spelling will appear after this particular sentence. No, this SOC will involve the current crash and thud of my little life as it unfolds on a dreary September morning that already has a touch of autumn in it. But not the good touch of crimson and gold (well outside the gold sheen of Elam), but the slightly fluey nudge you get when you cannot clear a nascent sore throat or rid yourself of the constant observation of skies of mildew and the certainty another war will break out today even though you are not up to fake caring for such matters because they never involve you. That of course leads to an astonishingly empty self admonishment. What about the new orphans? And then you hear Al Pacino’s voice from And Justice For All… berate you: “Dontcha’ care-yuh, dontcha’ care-yuh?”
Continue reading “Week 603: Once Upon A Fly Named Elam and the Bittersweet Return of Stream of Consciousness” →
