High Summer

Gray's and Torrey's, the nearby fourteeners. I thank and blame Elvis, Sabina's very best friend-a heretical Buddhist in his own rite, with an affinity for Mount Everest-that I have taken to calling them Vulture Peak [left] and Chomolangma [right].



Two of Luna's three kittens. Yes, it's true, Sabina's cat whored about and got herself knocked up. They've just started walking about the house. They'll be getting placed fairly soon, and Luna will be visiting the vet for a...discussion...on her promiscuous ways. Fucking cat.



The hounds. Something of a rare shot; Milarepa is sitting still. Most of the time, when I let her run with the Grumpy Old Men, she's somewhat beating up on Chevy, which gets her an ass-beating from Whistler. The three of them are still working out their hierarchy. Whistler is certainly alpha, but Chevy and Milarepa are still trying to get their standings figured.


It's that time of year when the temperatures reach the upper seventies in quaint American degrees and mosquitoes are ravenous. For the first time in eleven years, I wear shorts on a regular bases. That's right, deal with catching further glimpses of my skeletal build. After all, it's been hot up here. Those upper seventies on the fahrenheit scale get me to reconsider that window air conditioner I gave my father.

Of course, flatlanders, before you mutherfucker me too much, just remember which of us gets the longer winter...

I have been helping Saint Christopher with some catering. It's entertaining and otherwise intriguing. Of course, this means it's catch as catch can and the paper could be better. Ain't that always the way? It seems the ways of acquiring income that had me contemplating suicide, or at least alcoholism, were the means of getting the most paper. Still, I don't trip about this whole endeavor. See, the summer's just getting underway and there'll be more gigs.

Then again, I don't worry about too much, but enjoy the moment. After all, the moment you're in is the only thing you really have. Everything else is a memory or a jack-off fantasy. And, at any time, the number can be up, and that string of moments that made up your life is over. Lights out. Take what you have now and ride that snake's tail for everything it's worth. If you make it to that rocking chair the memories and stories you'll have will be more precious than folding paper, rubies, or glass beads.