Gentle reader,
The editor in chief of heptapod.org has been nigh-incapacitated since Saturday night due to a recurring defect with his dorsal region. Sadly the managing and copy editor of heptapod.org were unable to continue providing quality content for you, gentle reader.
It is with a bowed head and hat in hand that the staff of heptapod.org beg your forgiveness for this lapse in maintenance and productivity which most have come to expect from the least read website on the internet.
Thank you and good night,
spivak
Spot
Lilah
beat
"I'm sorry, spivak!"
spivak "What? The fuck are you talking about bitch? I'm so fucking offended I'll see you're shitcanned faster than your head can spin."
Team Lead #2 laughs, "spivak, you can't curse."
Meanwhile, later at home and touching base with Lee.
Lee says, "She's right you can't curse. Every time you do it's like you're over-enunciating the words. Cock-suck-urrr. Moth-er-fuck-urr. It just doesn't come across as natural."
I head this on 1530 KCMN while driving home from Cassius's place on Friday night.
Heading down to Wendy's I was doing what raddidge hated most about my driving. Okay one of the things. Looking at everything except the road. I saw people sitting under their dim porchlights, feet up on the railing or kids standing in a circle smoking cigarettes like its going out of style talking about whatever it is these crazy kids talk about in the future. Towards the back of these quiet homes along the Springs's empty streets I could see tiny Christmas lights strung through the branches and how there were youngsters dancing with each other only to end the evening with a wonderful kiss.
Crossing over Platte I slowed down and watched a lone cyclist cross over two lanes against the cars heedless of the traffic signals. A long breath came out of my mouth as a little bit of envy welled in my gut knowing that riding my bike would make me into an obstacle to automobiles rather than a fellow vehicle who shares the road.
My errand was done and I stood outside in the yard looking up at the sky reflecting upon the beauty all around me. From the golden squirrels mooching out from under the piggens and birds to watching a skunk trundle across the backyard to crawl underneath the neighbor's porch an hour before sunrise like a stinky vampire. Foxes who boldly trot through downtown and all the traffic comes to a halt to yield to the vulpine citizen.
When I came to Colorado eight years ago I found the most beautiful place on Earth. A place where I found dear friends who have attached themselves to my heart with more fervor than most have over the course of two decades. Upon reflection I'm annoyed at myself for not having found my sanity, my peace, my center until a year and a half before my slow and solemn return to the east coast accompanied by the plaintive whining of the crazy spivak deep in the basement of the abandoned asylum which is my mind who realizes all along he took the Centennial state for granted for so long and wasn't able to truly love and appreciate the sunsets, the silence and all the elbow room which has given so much joy.
No matter how much I write about it, it'd be hard for anyone else to really understand how beautiful it is here. How it can sink its hooks into you while your heart sighs with relief as your heart welcomes the link.
After all Colorado is a place of legend with tall red rocks, purple mountains and the bluest skies this side of heaven.
Nobody in their right mind nor with a lick of common sense would ever believe such a place exists outside of dreams.
It does.
I was walking down Mountain Avenue late at night. To my right was my hometown high school which I escaped in the middle of my sophomore year. When I looked across the street I saw in one of the windows was a portly, dark haired figure lit only by the aquarium glow of a computer screen.
Pulling into the parking lot was a beat-up blue Humvee missing various body panels. It crashed into a fencepost and a guy clambered out on all fours frothing at the mouth. I knew he and the fat guy were in cahoots while I backed into the evergreen shadows.
From there I wandered through various forgotten alleyways until I reached my father's business. At first the shop was empty so I sat on the curb only to nod off. Kept waking up at various times to check the public clock across the way which was annoying because even in my dream I still had to go to work. The umpteenth time I jolted awake I peered in the window and saw my father hard at work and his client was holding his head in his hand.
Literally.
The guy was decapitated, neatly, and holding his lifeless staring head.
