That was an interesting little jaunt. I went out to Calvary for the first time in a while, not cognizant of the fact that they were slowly demolishing the old Kosciuszko Bridge. I have heard about the slow dismantling of that bridge but thoughts of that did not enter my mind as I walked over there today. I looked toward it for several seconds before realizing how colossally different the horizon from there looks now. It is a matter of something being so big that you cannot see it, at least not at first. The crumpled remains of the Kosciuszko look like ruins, exactly what they are, albeit controlled ruins.

What made the scene evocative was how this vision of destruction served as the backdrop for the rows of tombstones between the bridge and myself. It was a blockbuster thing to see, at least for someone as familiar with the old bridge and the cemetery for as long as I. The unexpectedness of the sight contributed mightily to the impression it made. I wish I had a better camera on me but the shots from the little point-and-shoot will be fine… not that I intend to do anything with them.

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

There have been other changes to the landscape at Calvary. The roads are repaved and it looks like new graves in a number of spots along the fence that runs along Laurel Hill Boulevard are blossoming.

None of that changes the feel of Calvary like the ruins of the old Kosciuszko lurking on the horizon. This looked like a giant spider headless penis.

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

On my way over I might have walked in on a store being robbed. I stopped in at the gas station near the cemetery to get orange juice. Two people angered at the counter, one of them screaming at the cashier. In the short time I was in there he yelled three or four times “IF YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO RUN THE FUCKIN’ REGISTER THEN GET ANOTHER FUCKIN’ JOB!” I don’t know why he would have yelled so loudly if he wasn’t trying to intimidate the guy. I could not see the cashier’s face and I did not attempt to look at either of the two dudes, only one of whom was yelling.

I got the hell out of there.

I don’t know, maybe the dude was just having a bad day and taking it out on the cashier. When I entered the place another person was leaving and he seemed perfectly normal, meaning he didn’t look like someone who had just exited a crime scene.

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

I did not shower today. I wanted to see how grungy it makes me feel. I had thought that I basically never do this, skip a day of bathing. Then I remembered how gross it felt after a couple of nights in the hospital a couple of years ago. No shower there. In that case I think the feeling of accumulation of facial hair and filth all over my body seemed appropriate to the circumstances of sharing the room with an incontinent geezer who shit himself 6 or 7 times during OUR TIME TOGETHER.

I don’t think I will experiment with this again. I do not feel especially disgusting or revolting, but there is no point in not showering unless circumstances demand it.

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

Ruins of the old Kosciuszko Bridge

Someone posted to Facebook asking about the Weinstein affairs. He was asking how it is possible that somebody like Weinstein could find his actions to be “attractive” in any way. I did not respond but I would have said that the normal rules of romance and foreplay are not in play here. This is power-penis thing. But I think that setting a standard for this that has anything to do with normal notions of romance is not going to go anywhere.

It got me thinking again about the ways people communicate and miscommunicate, and the languages we speak that have little to do with the words we choose. Anger is a common solution to life’s problems, or a common attempt at a solution, but to me it almost always fails or renders itself irrelevant. I try to ignore but sometimes I cannot.

Anger is some people’s language.

Another solution to life’s problems is to lie. I have done that myself but, without trying to make excuses, I consider those incidents to have been accidental results of circumstance more than me flat-out intentionally fabricating something intending to deceive. Bu

There is a language of lies that some people speak and that I do not understand. That language of lies infiltrates other levels of communication, from fake news to the fantasy lives each of us has. I bet “FAKE NEWS”, or just “FAKE”, is the word of the year. If not that then “COVFEFE”.

A little while ago someone on the other side of the street waved and called out my name. I waved back and said “Hi, how you doing?” I have no idea who that person is but he knew my name. A moment later I turned back to get another look at him and it seems like he was doing the same thing, looking back to make sure he knew who I was. Whatever, it’s a small neighborhood.

I have been dipping back into Facebook a little bit. It had not been fun for me for a long time. Maybe it won’t be this time around either. I had not used the app in a long time. I checked in from Calvary and it sent me a blitz of questions about the place. Is this its phone number? Is this its website address?

Why the hell am I supposed to know this?

It is even stranger than I would have expected having an actual payphone in my living space. I turn and it is there. But it has been there in my mind for decades now. Giving it a physical form is like summoning the dead from the form of the ghosts they left behind. I don’t know if I can keep the website going, at least the top-facing pages. I do not want to do it anymore.

The more I look into this cruise ship idea the less inspiring and less likely it seems. 6 months at sea seems to be a minimum for most engagements. I had thought 3 was the standard. It also appears I would have to have a roommate. There’s a checkmark against the cruiseship gig. I’ve also read that classical players don’t usually do well in these situations because, inevitably, they are expected to improvise and play souped up version of ABBA songs. That is not news to me, and I can certainly play any kind of pop music, though I would have to rely on a fake book or some sort of sheet music which I would scan into my giant tablet. But even with all the notes in front of me I would need a good amount of time on the job to do that style as well as other professionals.