'Their eyes are dead, but the body don't mind'. Saw some weird things on tv. The history station. An assassin gunning down an entire Indian family of kings and queens and sons and daughters. His eyes were concentrated, and the empty body followed his direction. On to better and brighter things.
The new Radiohead album for one, one good reason giving me reason to type and sit in once place. I think my favourite song is weird fishes but in truth they all have a tremendous power over me. I did not fulfill any summer goals to write about Dakar, except when I was there, because it was always summer, in a way. Most writing I can remember comes from emails. There were very few trees, because it was the dry season. It was hot and dry and sandy, cool at night, and people rose and prayed before the sun. I passed out in the bathroom and woke with a seizure (maybe because I hit my head), but recovered by the next day.. met a crazy Nigerianne and next week got chased half-naked off some cliffs by a cop. It was hard to get many things accomplished in one day. Going to the beach was an adventure. Gambia, so close yet so far, was an adventure. And you talk to the same man who made fish and tea with you, and you see the toubabs that you know. You eat the chocomousse with bread every day and watch old ladies sell their little bags of peanuts. Talibe children chase you banging sticks on rusty tomato pots.
It would be very disorganised to go on. I can't seem to fit my thoughts in a straight line or direction. They veer off wildly. I have added some new posts - Once, fogs, feeling around in the dark, and more recent stuff.
Trying again now, a few days later. A brief history of post-Dakar. A few weeks after the culture shock wore off, I received news that Karmelius Karmelion the 1st, the prophet, would be my son. Alas, supposedly he was killed many weeks ago, but we will never know if one day he will live to defeat me. This is a mysterious, message .. moving on.
I searched for employment and found it, and lost it, and now I am back on the search. Craigslist of all things (really my first time exploring it) revealed some good leads. Freelance music journalists needed, a small company publishing science-fiction children's novels and other erotic stuff, and academic freelance writers. Though I seem to be bad at willing myself to write. Awful in fact. Now going to publish a few things I've left out for a while.
I wonder how these internet jobs work.. you could write all day, double, nay, triple your time working on multiple projects. Then strange visions enter my head, some terrible pyramid scheme, with underwriters writing for contracted writers, passing their stuff to the grand editors and copy writers for the big scheemers.
