greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

rings of flesh and the towers of iron

Yesterday, I wrote 1,575 words. Which earns me the coveted "That'll do, pig. That'll do." But not much more.

Otherwise, yesterday was a pleasant enough affair. Spooky swaddled me in wool and put my walking stick in my hand and shoved me out the door into the wide, wide world. That was about 5:30 p.m. (CaST), I think. And probably the first decent walk we've taken since December 28th. We went as far west as the edge of Inman Park. We stopped on Sinclair Avenue and played with Daisy, the big black dog. We marveled at blooming things what ought not be blooming. We spoke with a very talkative but skittish calico cat.

Then, on the way back, the illusion that we live in anything like a peaceful, civilised city was shattered when an unmarked white SUV filled with cops ran down a guy on a bicycle, where Washita Way NE intersects with Sinclair Avenue NE. Literally. The SUV was used as a battering ram to knock the guy off the bicycle and to the ground. The bicycle wound up under the SUV. We just stood there, watching, in that "what the fuck's gonna happen next" way that you witness something like this. The guy didn't try to run or resist. He put his hands in the air. Then he was tackled and wrestled to the sidewalk by four or five white policemen. He was black. The black guy kept asking, "What did I do?" He was told there were warrants, and that he was being arrested for "a bag of weed." Now, as far as I know, the guy on the bicycle was a mass-murdering fiend bent of global domination. I suppose that's possible. I don't know. I hope so, because seeing someone roughed up like that over "a bag of weed"...especially when he's black and the cops doing the roughing up are all white...and when it's all taking place in Atlanta...and never mind that they used an unmarked SUV to knock him off a bicycle. Well, you see where this is headed. Spooky and I stood on the corner watching until one of the big white guys turned and glared at us. You know the glare. Or maybe you don't. The "you didn't see nothing, and you ain't gonna say nothing" glare.

So, today perhaps I'll just stay in the house and pretend.

There's not much else to yesterday. Spooky discovered the root of all evil — cinnamon Altoids dipped in dark chocolate. Maybe an hour or so of Final Fantasy XII. A hot bath after the walk, while Spooky made a spicy Thai stir fry. A documentary on the sinking of the USS Oriskany off the coast of Florida, that it might become an artificial reef (photos of the sinking here). We watched a whole bunch of David Bowie videos (from the Best of Bowie DVD). Read more of The Prestige. I think I got to sleep a little after 2 a.m.

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Sometime this morning, I ended up back in the white room with the damp tile floors and the flickering fluorescent lights. The albino was there. But I'm beginning to think I should set up a "dream filter" for the journal, or just stop talking about this stuff altogether. Maybe it's time to resort to the Ambien again. Maybe the things we see, maybe we need to pay strict heed to those "you didn't see nothing, and you ain't gonna say nothing" glares. And maybe not. This morning, I can't say, one way or the other.

—————

I see it's almost noon, and there are sig sheets to be signed and words to be written and e-mails to be answered. Please order of a copy of Daughter of Hounds today, or order a second copy, or a third. Repeat customers welcome. And here's the link for the Creative Loafing interview, in case you missed it yesterday. Time to make the doughnuts (not "donuts").
Tags: doh, dreams, excessive force, the new south
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