Crooked Finger (crookedfingers) wrote,
Crooked Finger

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bowlegged dogs hurling themselves against the fencing

It is now in the death flow 12:48 PM Sunday afternoon. I thought I would quote some prose from "Infinite Jest" as way to kill some time. I thought of driving up to Family Fare grocery store to get a half pound of sliced roast beef for sandwiches, but I am afraid my old Dodge van might break down along the way or someone might crashed into me. So I am staying inside my cell and waiting for clear skies and happier days. I am not ready to meet Death. Carol told me on the phone last night that Mindy died, her friend who had cancer. Mindy and Tom her husband are/were members of Covenant PCA. Now Tom is a widower, his wife is gone-dead-gone to heaven to be with Jesus-in a state of heavenly rest. I can't handle death. I like to go to the funeral service but Mindy was cremated/body ravaged by cancer was burned to ashes/Mindy loved her old farm house/will Tom scatter her ashes on the corn fields next to their old farm house? Or will he sprinkled his wife's ashes on the cold waters of the Rabbit River that flows along side their land?.

Also I would fall to pieces if I went to Mindy's memorial service this coming Tuesday. I am afraid of death/look at death. I do not have full assurance of salvation. I have little faith. I am not ready to meet my Maker/my heavenly Father.

"The man who for the last three days had been Tiny Ewell's roommate at St. Mel's Hospital's detoxification unit sits in a blue plastic straight-back chair in front of his and Ewell's room's window's air conditioner, watching it. The air conditioner hums and gushes, and the man gazes with rapt intensity into its screen of horizontal vents. The air conditioner's cord is thick and white and leads into a three-prong outlet with black heel-marks on the wall all around it. The November room is around 12o C. The man turns the air conditioner's dial from setting #4 to setting #5. The curtain above it shakes and billow around the window. The man's face falls into and out amused expressions as he watches the air conditioner. He sits in the blue chair with a trembling Styrofoam cup of coffee and a paper plate of brownies into which he taps ashes from the cigarettes whose smoke the air conditioner blows straight back over his head. The cigarette smoke is starting to pile up against the wall behind him, and to ooze and run chilled down the wall and form a sort of cloud-bank near the floor. The man's raptly amused profile appears in the mirror on the wall beside the dresser the two in-patients share. The man, like Tiny Ewell, has the roughed-corpse look that attends detox from late-stage alcoholism. The man is in addition burnt-yellow beneath his flush, from chronic hepatitis. The mirror he appears in is treated with shatterproof Lucite polymers. The man leans carefully forward with the plate of brownies in his lap and changes the screen on the air conditioner from 5 to 3 and then to 7, then 8, scanning the screen of gushing vents. He finally turns the selector's dial all the way around to 9. The air conditioner roars and blows his long hair straight back, and his beard blows back over his shoulder, ashes fly and swirl around from his plate of brownies, plus crumbs, and his rodney's tip glows cherry and gives sparks. He is deeply engaged by whatever he sees on 9. He gives Tiny Ewell the screaming meemies. Ewell has complained. He wears pisscatchers, a striped cotton St. Mel's robe, and a pair of glasses missing one lens. He has been watching the air conditioner all day. His face produces the little smiles and grimaces of a person who's being thoroughly entertained." pg. 86,87 "Infinite Jest"

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