Future Musings

September 9, 2005 :: Today I sat completely still outside of Anna Bananna’s and let a cigarette, unlit, dangle from my crusty lips as I waited for the west coast sun to melt all over me in a plush blue and orange crimp. I’d spent the night walking around the city taking pictures of sewer grates and fire escapes, a bum was talking in his sleep and sounded quite coherent, a feat for the old shmuck, as in his waking hours he’s typically a ramble shack hohummery of mumbled garble and nodding heads.

July 18, 2008 :: I’m headed up to climb the San Francisco Mountains today. I haven’t been in Flagstaff a year yet, but it has already become my hometown. Such things are possible, though flighty at best, and anyone would do wisely to be warry of reclaiming each land they live in as home, but in this situation, I just feel settled. I left my bike tied to a tree there last week, after a long night of drinking I caught a ride home with some friends. So now I’m going back to get it and suck bugs the whole way back down.

August 29, 2026 :: My garden is a wonderful stuffing of various peppers, hot and sweet, tomatoes and spinach. Together with Francy I think I’ll make a wonderful meal of fish salad and milk.

December 25, 2048 :: My wife died today. She wanted to be cremated and scattered from here to Kentucky. I guess I should get on that…

March 11, 2066 :: I’m 87 years old tomorrow. Medical science will probably allow me to live another 20 years if I don’t mind ten or so of those strapped into a bed and spoon fed. That’s no way to be, though, so I’ve decided to quit work, give the house to Tristan to do with it what he will, and head into the Rockies for one last good summer. Nearly everyone I knew when I started this little blog is dead. I went to some of their funerals. I still talk to most of them before I fall into sleep. I’ve accomplished alot, I suppose, two children, I’ve seen nearly every inch of America and a few specks of Mexico. I’ve written the great American novel, though I’m certain no one knows it. Perhaps when I die it’ll go down in history. Tristan and Henna can squabble over the royalties. Or should I donate them all to cryogenics? Or stem cell research? What every happened to predictability, the milkman, the paperboy and evening tv…

Up Next: Spell it with 2 "C"s