Fences

Taking care of the trash this morning, I noticed that the neighbor's wooden fence has two rows of nails sticking straight out toward us, so that one could get a good inch of rusty nail implanted into one's hand or paw, or anything. Interestingly, the last section toward the back, the one that the cats routinely traverse in their travels does not have those nails. That is probably a happy coincidence, rather than an indication of their sensitivity toward my cats' needs. I have been struggling whether I should make a point of informing them that I am going to start banging out their nails, so that they will have some nails nuzzled in their lawn and should watch out for them. I know I don't like the idea of subjecting their dog to a greater risk of injury. However, they were apparently blithely indifferent to our risk.

Horace scoffs. "Chores. Working. Working with a hammer! Frankly, I'd be surprised if you get around to it at all."

Monk chuckles. "I know what you mean. And it's a lot worse now. My arms ... feel so noodly now. I was never Thor, or Schwarzenegger, ... but it's ridiculous now."

Dream

Dreaming ...

We are living in a rustic old house on a tall hill, somewhat isolated. Arthudo asks if I might like some strawberry triple-layer ice cream, or something elaborate like that. It is obvious that he is hankering for some himself. I tell him, "I could go for a little meal," trying to urge him a little, "just a hamburger and fries?" It is clear by the somewhat pained expression on his face that Artie is not happy with this response. We head out together anyway. Just a mile down the road there is a simple little restaurant, like a countryside inn. Teri and Jack are there, seated at a corner table, laughing and talking, almost like young lovers. Walking to the counter, I see that they have some Asian dishes on display, including fried rice. I could definitely go for some chicken or beef fried rice. I eagerly have my face practically pressed against the glass to have a good look. Alas, they only seem to have shrimp fried rice.

* * *

Arthudo?

Yeah ... maybe, after Pop's blow-up about the kitchen clock, along with the sense that he has become more arrogant, I feel more alienated toward him, and I feel a need for a little distancing, if only in my writing.

Why 'Arthudo' in particular? It sounds, to my ear at least, a little belittling. Am I right about that, or is that just me?

I suppose it is diminishing, but, hey, it's my writing - my choices. When searching for a name, 'Arthudo' came quickly to mind. I recall mother calling him that in my early childhood. It has much of the tone of the name that his brothers often called him, again when I was a child, 'Junior'. At first, I had trouble coming up with the spelling, and I flirted with the name 'Arturo', but that sounded too strong. Then, googling different attempted spellings, I finally hit upon 'Arthudo'. That sounded about right. I had been thinking of something like Arthoodle ... Arthoodle the dumb poodle.

And 'Teri', too?

Yeah, in writing out my dream, creating a sort of different mindscape, I fleshed out the idea. Though, it should be understood that I am only thinking about doing this when it comes to dreams, including perhaps the more daydreamy stuff, if something pops up in a kind of Hallway Dialogue sort of way. In my straight journal entries, unencumbered by too much imagination, I expect to stick with good old mom and pop.

Not even Stormy Dreamer and Simple Tree?, if only out of nostalgia.

No. I mean, I keep those names in some of the old journal entries in which they are used, but, no, I don't really care for those names. Actually, they embarrass me, making me think about how limited and stunted my imagination is. Though, if I should be writing a poem and am in need of a rhyme, I could fall back to those names, and I think I have done so, in fact, in my last vain bout with poetic inspiration.

In a Hallway Dialogue sort of way? As in the earlier entry "Fences", when you used Horace?

Exactly. The comment and his persona popped into mind, and I ran with it.

You are not really going far for your pseudonyms, are you?

{Chuckling} No, I'm not. I figured it doesn't matter at this point. If a tree falls in the forest ... does anyone in the city really give a fuck?! And the use of such a name means something to me. Seeing how I am the only reader of these pages, effectively speaking, why should I deny myself the emotional connotations that such names evoke for me, and try to hide them when no one is even trying to look?

So, this will be a new thing with you?

Well ... I want it to be, but, in truth, I do not know how often my imagination, or my subconsciousness, will give me occasion to use these new conventions. I want more dreams, more Hallway Dialogues, more imagined voices from all the ghosts of my past, but ... my inner resources are running thin, drought-ridden, impoverished. I am trying to whip up some fumes to make this engine run a little, but I am afraid that I am not going to get very far. I am not really counting on having a lot of these more involved scenes.