Lately I haven't been feeling too well. Nothing to be concerned about since I've discovered I have a streak of hypochondria. The fact amuses me since I tend to ignore serious maladies and pass them off as nothing. The human mind is a powerful thing. Of course look at what's telling me that. If my penis was saying "Hey, that brain is pretty influential" then I'd give pause for thought but since my brain's doing all the thinking and musing and dreaming then I need a grain of salt the size of Utah.
Each time I go visit The Birds, I feel an ache in my chest. This raises my anxiety, I think of Eddie Guerrero dying of heart failure and how John Ritter went suddenly because he had a leak and he didn't get medical attention in time.
In my quieter moments, I'll think that places like Alaska and Rainy Mountain are preliminary visits to the afterlife. Unfortunately I don't have a Virgil to be my realtor. Alaska is a comfortably lonely place. Rainy Mountain is a comfortable place where there are plenty of people but many occasions where I can find some solitude so I can enjoy the interminable precipitation.
Of course when I leave the Birds and cycle back home, I pedal most of the way and don't feel in pain or like I'm going to keel over. In fact, back in September of 2004, I would feel chest aches then go outside and ride vigorously around the block. I'd feel better and my confidence in my health would be restored.
In short, I'm feeling mortal. This isn't happy but I reckon it's part of life.
A baby bear had joined my small household. That day I took him for a stroll past the ranch up the road. This time they had lots of fully grown bears. Some of them were acting territorial but it seems they were simply pissed off, like a white supremacist at a white chick with a black guy, that this little bear was keeping company with a human oppressor. Most of the bears would strain against the wire fence, shoving their noses towards the little cub.
When I got home, I realized that I had work to be done. Dave Sim had died and he asked me to maintain everything related to Cerebus the Aardvark. In waking life, Sim says that Cerebus and his other work will pass into the public domain rather than be held up in various copyright hells like Winnie the Pooh and Mickey Mouse and so on and so forth.
My job was photocopying the original artwork onto huge posters and mailing them out, for free, to anyone who requested them. Now the photocopier was pretty cool, each xerograph was perfect. No ink bleed, everything was sharp down to the zipatone. Ended up that the most requested item was having the first six pages of issue 186 photocopied and then the one page where Sim compares women to cats who scrape out the insides of men's skulls with their scratchy tongues.
Ah, the power of pussy.
The rest of the dream was productive but I kept seeing Sim's ghost.
For those of you playing along at home, Dave Sim is very much alive. Sorry to disappoint feminists and their apologists.
