Shotgun Wedding

Tuesday, 29 February 2000

Dear Barbie’s Dreamhouse Diary,

Well, it looks like Ken’s gone off with G.I. Joe (Actionman for English readers). I just couldnt’ compete with that Kung Fu Grip. Ah, well, I never really liked guys with teddy bear plush instead of hair. Also, between you and me, he wasn’t exactly “up to snuff down there” if you know what I mean….tee hee hee…
Oh faithful reader, tender, lean, bathed in his or her own juices, simmered over a slow flame until mouth-wateringly juicy reader….
Much has transpired for your working boy since last he entered anything in these pages. The thing is, ol’ Guido is about to get hitched, married, entering the sacred bonds of holy matrimony. As you will recall from an earlier entry, the infant spawn of the author of this screed is about to enter the rich tapestry of being, to become a piece in the cosmic game, the “Lila Rasa”, the divine sport…in short, unto us a child is born.

From a field report of Xy^78fartos##:

On 33 Quizax, Fring yellow arg arg floog (smell of ozone) by our calendar, Thursday next, March 9, 2000, as linear time is marked here, (never taking the “z axis” of the 11 dimensional time keys into account!) a tribal ritual will take place in the shrine of the local version of the dying god archetype, a certain “Christos” or “Jaysus”. Said ritual will include such activities as the holding of crowns over heads, much modulation of sound energy (“singing”), burning of fragrant resins and many other curious behaviors, many of which require the exchange of paper certificates symbolizing time and energy. Great numbers of these certificates will pass from the frontal appendages of the group of beings under observation to other groups of beings who devote their entire time and energy to the conducting of such rituals. Among these other groups are those devoted to the fabrication of textile-based body wrappers which provide both protection from the hostile environment of this planet and ritual decoration of the body. Other such groups fabricate and deploy long chain carbon based polymers which are ingested by these beings through a dedicated frontal orifice which is the system input and the first step in the process by which the “proteins” and “sugars” are converted to more rudimentary chemical substances used to maintain and rebuild the component modules of the organism.
Upon completion of the ritual, the male and female pair of the species here residing are then given social license to interact in a sexual manner freely, either with an eye towards further reproduction or in order to entertain one another when electronically generated stimulus proves inadequate. In a subsequent ritual, other members of the “couple’s” tribal, social and/or economic aggregate are called upon to indulge in rhythmic contortion of the entire organism, to ingest greater or larger quantities of fermented vegetable extracts which so alter the somatic systems of these beings as to induce significant changes in the primitive electro-chemical means by which information is processed. The warping of information processing induced by the ingestion of these substances forms the basis of an earlier report by this unit (see “Alcoholics Anonymous, Zombie Death Cult or Twelve Steps to Paradise?” by xy^78fartos##). As ever, oh Grand Sworteeler of the 99 Yagsmobls’qa, I shall keep you posted upon the progress of the subject under observation, the Gwee Doh, or Reininger unit, and will give you timely notice when I shall undertake his termination and preservation for consumption on the home world.


xy^78fartos## (field agent for Ignatz 3, Sector yigyig (smell of broken sport socks)

Compelled to Move

Saturday 5 Feb. 2000

Oh, faithful, dear, tender, succulent, what are you wearing, I wanna suck your toes in leather socks reader of mine. The fact is that my living situation is about to change fairly drastically. I have had the rug pulled out from under me by my (sponsor? Patron? Manager?) and been summarily given my walking papers. I must be out of this apartment by March with almost no notice. This left me somewhat befuddled. Many things will change. The refuge of the moment is at the casa of the mother-to-be of my child, a local artist named Athena.(if you didn’t know this already, surprise.) Said child is now in the oven for lo, these last 4 months and is a boy child. Things are in major upheaval once again for this working boy. In the meantime I am hitting the boards nightly in the play Agamemnon. Things could be worse.

Agamemnon is set to go to Caracas, Venezuela at the end of March! Whoa. Venezuela, get ready for the Mexican American King of Greece and his fiddle with a whole load o’ Greeks.
Back to personal stuff, Athena lets me drive her car in spite of the fact that I have no license, feeds me, will help me to get over in this burg. Taking refuge with Athena means I can live like a human instead of a scurrying insect as I have been doing since I arrived here. I have been driving myself to the theatre every night. I took some of the company out for souvlaki in the car last night, I drove Panigiotis, the keyboard player home and I took immense pleasure in that. I have been cruising down the streets which become blessedly empty around the time I get out of the play with the stereo up loud, listening to the Beatles, Bowie, my faves, singing along loud, sucking on a coke, sucking on a cig, feeling like something considerably less than a victim. I have never had this simple pleasure in my adult life. I have never had a car with a stereo in it. Imagine that. I have never driven down the road with no particular destination listening to music of my choice. Never until a few days ago. I have been eating regularly. I have been sleeping. I have been waking up elsewhere than this apartment out in the boondocks which is in many ways a shrine to the life I led with JJ, frozen in time, awaiting her return. I have decided and those around me who actually love me (there are many, in spite of my refusal to see it) have advised me that I AM ALLOWED TO FEEL ALL RIGHT. I am not constrained to mourn forever, to accept the scraps from someone else’s table because that is what I deserve for letting JJ die. I am alive. I want to stay alive. Fed up with being dependent, misinformed, ignored, left to my own devices in a strange place by stranger people. I close this chapter of bitterness behind me.
The sun shines bright on my old Halandri home. We persist. It never ceases to amaze me what resilient creatures we are.
On another note, I rode the long-awaited Athens Metro. More on this later, for the time being, suffice to say that it looks like any metro anywhere in Europe and doesn’t go many places yet. We reserve judgement. It is useful to those who live near it, otherwise you still stuck wit y’all’s cars, fokes.