storied philosophy

interesting, because in the short time I was in Japan with you, I saw that most of your  bullshit wasn’t bullshit at all, but a brilliantly found philosophy of life … you covered it all up with a good story and laugh … your stories were riveting I tell ya

my charge had a paperwork emergency so I went out to see her this morning. we always have a meal once whatever fire she had is put out. and I think that she chews each piece of food at least 100 times before swallowing. today it took her 2 hours and 15 minutes to eat 2 scrambled eggs, 2 pieces of toast, fruit, and a butt steak. usually I have to listen to her normal repertoire of stories, but today she had a new one. she worked at Monumental Life in Cleveland, Ohio after she returned from Europe and the Army. she was in love with one the insurance salesmen, Mort, a married Jewish man. she had sex with him twice in the apartment that he kept in the city. did she like it, yes. then he fixed her up with several of his single friends, none of whom Doris would give so much as a kiss to. what happened? Doris decided to move to Chicago and leave Mort behind. she said that he tried to keep her in Cleveland and wanted to buy farm for her to live on. a farm? you must understand that Doris is the last person I could ever see on a farm. I asked her what she would do on a farm? her reply … have sex! she explained that it would be an affair after all and her job in it would be to sit around and be available for sex whenever Mort could get away from the city and his wife. she moved to Chicago instead. I asked her if she ever spoke to Mort again, and she told me that whenever she and Jimmy had a fight (the man that she married in Chicago) she would call all of her boyfriends, including Mort, collect.

you think like me. that is rare in itself. you look at story like me … finding paragraphs of scripted tale from a few bites of porkchops.

My dad didn’t yell at us … he was just loud. And he would get confrontational. He was always trying to start stuff. “Hey, you have a big zit on your face!” We learned just look at him and say, “yeah, so?” The thing is, reacting that way pissed my father off. He wanted a fight. The older he got, the worse he got. My mom got sick of it and finally started to give it back to him. Well, my dad got so confused. He’d cried to me, literally cry because the man didn’t live a day that he didn’t sob over something, “your mom has changed!” He was, in his own words, a classic in his own mind. He got what he’d always seem to want, but he didn’t want that.

you are very bright and should publish … but then again, i don’t know. that defeats the purpose.

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