Frog Perspectives
Mar 24, 2018 23:44:25 GMT -5
Jean Luc de Lemur, repulsionist, and 3 more like this
Post by Enkidum on Mar 24, 2018 23:44:25 GMT -5
Hey TI people, I haven't been around here in a long-ass time but perhaps some of you remember me. Either way, I'm kinda here for self-promotion. Cause I got with the hottest trend of 2005 and started a blog. Here's the latest (and by far the shortest - several of the others are >3000 words) post:
It's full of true stories from my murky past, but also ranting philosophical and literary and political and musical. You can find out all about my misadventures with Honduran prostitutes, dreams about Saddam Hussein impersonation contests, and why I like George Orwell so much.
Feel free to ignore it, laugh at it, share it with others, or even read it.
That link again: frogperspectives.net.
Cheers, and happy Sunday!
Grandview Park - Vancouver, August 6th, 1998
I was sleeping in Grandview Park when a cop woke me up to tell me I shouldn't be sleeping in the park. Thanks, I'm not anymore. Rolled up my sleeping bag, blinked myself into semi-consciousness. Old East Asian guy in a threadbare black suit, mouth full of gold, passed by and said something to me in a language I don't speak. I smiled and nodded. Went to the bathroom to splash my face, saw him watching me on the way to and fro, he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. Stowed my gear, moved it into a sunny spot and sat bleary-eyed on my pack, trying to figure out what to do with my day. Old man returned, spoke to me at length in his language, elucidating with hand gestures that were completely incomprehensible to me, save that he was illustrating something about my facial hair. After a few more gestures he leant down to touch my beard, running a few strands between his fingers and making complimentary noises. Then he tugged my shirt up a bit, above my pants, and touched the hair on my stomach, exclaiming with delight. Bemused, I just sat there. After a more futile attempts to communicate, he bent down and touched the hair above my ankles, then my arm. About the only thing I understood was that something to do with sleeping and the number three could take place not too far away, and that I should take part in it. Maybe he was offering me a very cheap bed, or maybe he wanted to fondle all my hair in private for three hours. I told him I wished I spoke better Mandarin and he spoke better English. Finally he left, which is a good thing because his hair fetish was beginning to piss me off.
I was sleeping in Grandview Park when a cop woke me up to tell me I shouldn't be sleeping in the park. Thanks, I'm not anymore. Rolled up my sleeping bag, blinked myself into semi-consciousness. Old East Asian guy in a threadbare black suit, mouth full of gold, passed by and said something to me in a language I don't speak. I smiled and nodded. Went to the bathroom to splash my face, saw him watching me on the way to and fro, he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. Stowed my gear, moved it into a sunny spot and sat bleary-eyed on my pack, trying to figure out what to do with my day. Old man returned, spoke to me at length in his language, elucidating with hand gestures that were completely incomprehensible to me, save that he was illustrating something about my facial hair. After a few more gestures he leant down to touch my beard, running a few strands between his fingers and making complimentary noises. Then he tugged my shirt up a bit, above my pants, and touched the hair on my stomach, exclaiming with delight. Bemused, I just sat there. After a more futile attempts to communicate, he bent down and touched the hair above my ankles, then my arm. About the only thing I understood was that something to do with sleeping and the number three could take place not too far away, and that I should take part in it. Maybe he was offering me a very cheap bed, or maybe he wanted to fondle all my hair in private for three hours. I told him I wished I spoke better Mandarin and he spoke better English. Finally he left, which is a good thing because his hair fetish was beginning to piss me off.
It's full of true stories from my murky past, but also ranting philosophical and literary and political and musical. You can find out all about my misadventures with Honduran prostitutes, dreams about Saddam Hussein impersonation contests, and why I like George Orwell so much.
Feel free to ignore it, laugh at it, share it with others, or even read it.
That link again: frogperspectives.net.
Cheers, and happy Sunday!