Nailbunny's blog: "My blogcrappings"

I just found this in the stash of things I left in Portland, OR, three years ago...:

Dear Brother Arthur,

     ...disconnected and dismembering the telephone until the typewriter walks in... ...and we have to thank the Subhumans for playing an mpromptu tune out of a second floor window on Stark street a few years ago...and my friend Chris out on the ledge drinking his vacation away, sending out death growls to passersby, and not afraid to invite strange busking gutterpunks up from the street to have a toast...first a Dormouse scuttled into the efficiency and made a nest amid the cat hair balls. Soon there was Art all over the wall - words like "lucubration" - pictures prompting you to have a nice warm cup of shut-the-fuck-up - and stories so aptly told: of plants cared for by the Prabhupada, of siblngs raised with recorders in thier mouths, of platforms and pulleys erected to save the pines, of pugil sticks and tournaments in city parks, and of growing up on the street at thirteen. And then was Bart letting out myriad tongues to make people smile: (throating) eeeaaaaaawwwwwrrrrr, (honking) haw hee h a w hee, (cartooning) shut up beavis...the songs were played into the night. Satan was on the sitar testing out his breath. This was dubbed as a rebellion and it was mentioned that i won't be running. Still Benjaholic tossed the spacebag into the air and all that was heard was a unified cry of "SSSAAAHHH WWWOOOOOOJJJ"...The mad dogs chased us out to sea, and we found ourselves in naked hotsprings, we found ourselves in a witch's hobbit hole speaking elvish to the smell of moldy pizza forgotten under the couch, we found ourselves boarded on a summit with broken backs and twisted ankles because we neglected to give silence when passing by the lumberjacks' rock, we found ourselves in a cave full of strippers with the filth of junk piled high in thier eyes the pets food piled high in the litterbox, and we found ourselves in a church denominated to death metal and free pancakes and mudwrestling and absynthe, and we found oursleves in a temple in the woods filled with pillows squeezing a plastic water bottle that turned us into easter bunnies, and we found ourselves as american gods snapping the strings of ukelele while mauling jewish girls with shopping carts, and we found ourselves on stage in a subliminally sickened system with a pad of chaos banging the drumsof war while the saints came marching in, and most fondly to the corners of my mouth, we found ourselves bombing zoos with flashlights and bicycles in the dark and coasting down to common ground with only a breeze and a scream in our heart...You moved in once and shared our food, but then paulo died while the cops were after you because your dad was in prison after you went to the rainbow gathering in australia. But the broken closet doorturned out to be a dinner table after all and thanksgiving was born away home. My "wife" became an "if we" and you moved in once again. One night you basked in a half-drunken glow and told me your story about how wonderful it is to orgasm while playing for the receiving team. Oh yeah, and somewhere along the line you helped to save my life too. I can only hope that i helped you with yours simply by listening and remembering your tale. I always admired your charm in being able to put a smile on just about any girl that happened to walk by you on the street. I always hoped f or y ou that you would one day find that special companion - male or female - that would stop and hear your song and never walk away - ever since you told me that it was your dream to one day have a family of your own. I will keep the prayer vigil for you and every other solitary sould that i meet, but i realize for some it is not their f ate to mix footprints. So even if "emily" turns into "my lie" you can surely res t on the lawn that "benjaholic" will never turn into the "ole chn jab". Yet as the story goes, the wind continues to blow. It blew you past the stark street stalkers numbers one through ten while bussing tabls in a room full of sweaty men. It blew meinto a basement with the ghosts of Sodom and Gomorrah who buried me with my broken heart. It blew you under the welder's torch to find that you'd exchanged sleeping on other peoples' couches for a couchless apartment of your very own. It blew me behind wheelchairs to find that i had exchange my only taste of bachelorhood for a room of my very own in my parents' house. It blew you your own personal slave. It blew me back my wife. It blew me back to sleep on your floor for once and to give you my wedding dishes f or your slave to wash. It blew me back to the first house of my own. it blew you the longest girlfriend of your adult life. then one day, in fact today, you p honed me at six am while i was on te can and i got your address to mail this tomorrow.

i love you..........................brotherbenjaholic