FEBRUARY 14, 2019

Valentine's Day Massacree Again

So anyway, as for what is happening along McKay Avenue, we can say that good intentions will not prevail, for the entire progress as been one of irrational greed and pumping more people down that narrow strait than the physical environment can support. Every plan has been like that and the current one is no exception. The region is infected with landgreed fever and that spit is not unaffected. Yes, we can see what you are doing and we can see it still from afar.

Meanwhile, in the San Geronimo Valley, the cold front set in to make the nights stiff with frost. The House residents huddled close in the decrepit buildings there as the rains and hail pounded the acres. Power went out and creeks flooded over the roads. The winds flung huge branches down.

In such an isolated place and in such weather, Denby felt confident and assured that this year would pass with no contretemps upon the dreaded V-day that so many others adore.

That night he went out with the gang to the Saloon where a band played old school blues and everyone had a few beers and all was groovy because the place was filled with Blues and good music and the band was good and everyone was having a good time and Denby danced mostly with Marsha from New Jersey, save for a few rounds with a willow-haired gal from Lagunitas, whose name turned out to be, unsurpisingly, Willow. There was no Trouble anywhere to be seen at all. Then everyone went back home after last call and everything was fine until a rude light shone in Denby's eyes before dawn.

Turned out he was under arrest for consorting with somebody under the Me-too-movement and there was nothing to be done about it. Until it all got cleared up and so, with tears in his eyes, he was brought down to the Station where he was inspected, dectected, rejected, injected and otherwise disrespected as he was booked for molestation of the most scurrilous kind pertaining to a potential minor and t here was nothing he could do about it under the brand new Me-Too Ordinance.

In the San Rafael jail, Denby looked up at the moonlight of the new Snow Moon streaming through and asked just why this sort of thing always happened to him and god answered, because Denby, I really love you. And nobody else does.

Thanks alot, Denby said.

FEBRUARY 24, 2019

(V-Day cont.)

So anyway, Baby Blunt is still on a rampage about getting his wall between his property and that belonging to Brown People. Largely because he was denied during the last election of a majority supporting his enterprise and also being sued by a number of Me**Too** folks and under investigation of collaborating with the Enemies of the Island in the form of Russian Collusionists, Baby Blunt has in his own mind a State of Emergency, which generally is the last resort of tin-pot dictators who wear mirror sunglasses and epaulets.

We see how much this sort of image helped Musharrif and Idi Amin and Ghaddafi. And the Berlin Wall is a good example of how effective these things are in reality. But nevertheless, Baby Blunt wants his wall to protect his garden vegetables and in his mind he has an emergency because nobody takes him seriously and that is a problem.

Denby got let out of jail after the latest Valentine's day Massacree Disaster and headed wearily home after a long discussion with the desk sergeant who felt that Denby should stop engaging in illegal activity and doubtful circumstances every year.

Denby protested that it was not he, but the circumstances at fault all the time.

Then how is it you wound up in the women's restroom of the movie theatre without your pants that time?

That was children's bubblegum, Denby tried to explain.

Last I heard bubblegum has neither intoxicating nor aphrodesiac qualities. If it does turn out to possess such powers, please let me know and I will purchase a case. But I suspect you were under the influence by other means, so do not blame Double Bubble. Sign here for your possessions.

And so it went. It is impossible to prove innocence, as many a one falsely charged can attest, while guilt is easy to suppose.

Please do not come into my jail during Valentine's time or any other time for that matter, as I find you a troublesome sort and a blot upon the honor of my District. Go away and come no more, said the Sergeant.

So it was, Denby got on the bus and returned to Silvan Acres even as the rains began again to flail the sweet earth and the trees. As the bus pulled up to the willow-hung bus-stop Jose and Javier were there to greet him and give him the news about Doyle who had suffered a stroke up north at the River and was now in Napa, comotose.

The three walked in the rain without umbrellas, using only their fedoras and long coats for protection while the tree branches whipped angrily in the rough wind above them and the cold, cold pellets gathered like ravens, fell down like bombs.

In the Island-Life offices, now a converted barn in Silvan Acres because of the criminal elements that had forced everyone out, the Editor remained in the cavernous space pounded by the weather, all alone and doing his work at the desk lit by a single pool of light. It was mostly dark in that space, save for the occasional desklamp left on, the occasional computer screensaver flickering in the dark pool of shadows. All around hung the muttering curtains of night, while beyond this pale, beyond the circle of dark, somewhere out there gleamed the spirit of a like mind.

At one time he had imagined he had found such a spirit in the flesh, but now that light was extinguished forever. Departed, leaving behind some website code, a banjo and a guitar once held by a founding member of the Jefferson Airplane to add distinction to its humble trash guiltar origins.

And what the hell is all this talk about bubblegum and Denby's pants? Ribald comedy interrupts our grief.

Maybe that is the way is should be. Our grief and our trouble is just hysterically funny to other people who take comfort in our pain.

That is just the way it is. That is just the way it has always been and playground bullies have always been there and succeeded in the end.

We have only ourselves and our sense of humanity as sword and shield against those dark forces that burn crosses.

Gum Lung grows and shrinks with our age, always pursuing that glowing, fiery ball down through all the corridors of Time. Perhaps the Dragon, too, pursues Company in all the thousands of years of chasing that evasive sphere. What would happen if the Dragon finally would succeed in catching that orb?

In the cold space of the Island-life offices, the Editor sat in the pool of light shed by the single desklamp, his white hair flying about his head in a corolla, searching and doing all for Company.

The sound of the train horn keened from Oaktown across the estuary and wended its way through the redwoods of Marin's well-matriculated hills and slid over the sleeping bulk of Princess Tamalpais following the old, forgotten railbeds that once led along Sir Francis Drake Boulevard to the coast, stirring the coyotes who began to howl their evensong which carried forth on the winds over Fairfax and White's Hill, ululating through Silvan Acres and the mist-shrouded niches of the San Geronimo Valley, coursing with faint gray shapes along the ridgetops through the drifts of fog to an unknown destination.

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