This picture is a mistake, a fragment, a confused moment. It could be said to mirror a feeling of nothingness, an empty life. It would be a strained and amateurish comparison, but it could be said.
Something missing, something disappearing. Something insipid.
The morning is foggy, damp and cool, a southern winter's day of indeterminate length.
I haven't paid Henry the yardman for two months. I just don't see him. He has been coming when I am not here. I thought I would catch him before Christmas, but he snuck in while I was out. I feel terrible. I wanted to give him money. I can't mail him payments. I don't know his address. I don't have a phone number. He has been taking care of my yard since 1988, I think, and I have never known any information about him other than his name. It is terrible, but how could I ask him now? No, we will continue on in this mysterious way until he just doesn't show up again, and I will wonder what happened to him.
My buddy gave me a picture of Brando sitting with a wild gorilla in Idi Amin's Ugandan jungle. It is big and framed and so I can't scan it and all pictures show a reflection in the glass. I tried to find one on the internet, but this is the best I could do.
It is supposed to be a joke gift as he and I were both swindled by our good buddy who used our money for other purposes. That was a long while ago, and now Brando is dead. I've decided to hold onto the picture rather than throwing it away, though I may change my mind tomorrow. A different world, a different time.
I need to take a trip, but I don't have the internal resources just now. Sometimes the fates have their own inevitable plans. For now, I'll just have to flow with the tides.
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