Of Bathory and Smoking in the Rain

There isn’t much to talk about these past few days. Personally, I’ve been ensconced in a modicum of depression, and not a small amount of self-loathing. What am I looking for, exactly? What would suit me fine would be something most of you take for granted. A sense of purpose, perhaps, a desire to be a better human being. It’s the, “purpose,” thing that would taste sweet in my mouth, and fill me up, as I am empty.

My wife gave me a lovely gift last night, a pouch of, “Carter Hall,” pipe tobacco. Poverty has found me without it for weeks. It hasn’t been easy. I’m supposed to stop smoking soon, per the housing authority in which I live. That makes sense. It’s a disgusting habit, so who am I to argue? But Nancy’s gift has given me something with which to celebrate the April 1 ban. Yeah.

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That’s it for me. No mystery. It’s getting cloudy out here and it’s supposed to rain. I welcome it. Aristotle wrote, “What is a friend? A soul located within two bodies.” That reads like something written by someone writing for a greeting card company. Supposedly he said it, so there you go.  I like to think that Nancy is my friend like that, because I certainly feel incomplete. The expression, “She is my better half,” may mean something. It has to, if some Greek fellow said it a very long time ago. How lucky I’m to have found my better half. How sad it is that I have nothing to give my better half on her birthday. I’ve told her that I love her, and that’s certainly true. An expensive gift would have made that even more clear, the extent of my love. All I have now are words. Walter Benton may help. He’s good like that…

As the world gathers momentum toward annihilation on all fronts-we walk apart, each to his own
lonely end…not hand in hand as lovers walk. Yet I would enter time’s infinite pages more
happily with you than in the company of Christs and Dantes-comets and constellations!
Darling…before the distance widens beyond reach and sight-look this way, give me your hand
that the stars may say of us…

The last we saw of them was when they kissed, then beautifully naked
walked as if into a sea of bright blue water-leaving their bodies like old clothes upon the shore.

Very romantic, very beautiful.

This woman means the world to me, Nancy, she is everything to me. Everything. Everything.

This woman means the world to me, Nancy, she is everything to me.

So today is her birthday and I move on, and she moves on with me. How lucky can a person be? Not any luckier than that! So a bit of depression, self-loathing, suicidal ideation, pain, the flu, electro-convulsive therapy, confusion, whatever else, whatever they got…is it so dreadful? How bad could it be if I have Nancy, who wants to spend her birthday with me, how bad could it be?

No, life can’t be bad at all, even if I didn’t get her a gift. And a bit of time goes by as I walk the dog and smoke my pipe. What are you doing as you’re reading this? Here I go, out the door. Here I go…with pictures.

Well, it did work out, with pictures and video. The conversation has turned to Keith Richards’ (of The Rolling Stones), and how he is like Erzsébet Báthory, the mid-16th to early 17th century serial killer who bathed in the blood of virgins and killed about 600 young girls, virgins, to maintain youth in perpetuity. What is Keith Richards’ secret to youth? One shudders.

So Nancy, Annie, and I set out for a walk, only to be met by pouring rain. So much for that. But we did hang around on our tiny front, “porch.” A stoop, actually. Anyway, here we are:

Nancy1

The porch, with Nancy.

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Nancy’s feet and the porch, with Annie.

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A minor flood.

I may as well show the video, as, well, I took it. Enjoy. Happy March 26 2015, Nancy’s birthday!

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About Darren W. Lyle

I'm certifiably insane (I have the paperwork), collect old typewriters (got one?), am 43 years old, and am divorced. I've five pets, of course, and have thoughts. Some aren't good, some are. some are funny, some are just there, but I'll post them when I'm of a mind to.
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