the golden hind

A la the recently reawakened CORE I decided to pull ye old blueberry iBook out, wipe OSX and stick Kubuntu on it. It took a while to install but it did and now I am typing this on it.

Yesterday I got some flat-wound strings for the bass. Oh so sensual to the fingers and just a tad heavier feeling. Also a cheapy bulk-FX pedal thing. The byline on the box sez, “Designed by bass fanatics hanging out in the rock and roll underground of Salt Lake City”. I, being who I am, found this so humorous, that I, as mentioned, bought it. But I’m sure locals would go, ‘wow, cool, Salt Lake City… ou–ehh?!”

At one time I expressed my interest in wanting too dress like a mormon — to do it properly — not just with shit thrown together from op-shops. But even with the cash-resources to complete such a project it’s surprising how easy it it to stray from the path. That is, instead of going for straight black trousers, I got pin-stripe. And although I did have a plain, white, short-sleeved shirt made for me, I went for a short-hemmed, untucked summer look than the more formal 7th D.A. regulation.

I’ve not changed out of these clothes in a week; sleeping in them, sweating in them, masturbating violently in them. I gathered the dropped long black hairs together from amongst the layer of crud on the fake linoleum. They’re from the previous visits of my lady-friend. I’ve been trying various combinations of incantations to summon her here but so far without success. I secured a thick rug to the only windows but there’s still a few shafts of light that penetrate, and it is in them I sit, unshaven, on the floor, muttering sometimes.