weathering heights
walked the famous ilkley moors (bronte’s “wuthering heights”) - looked about for heathcliff in vain … couldn’t even find sir laurence olivier, did find the occasional sheep tho. seen hundreds of thousands of sheep so far, and i haven’t had one single erection - i’m cured! also saw a rich, incredible palette of color: purple heather, 40 shades of green bracken, gray rock, white flowers, brown red peat moss lichen and earth.
too expensive here for us. hope to recover with lower east european costs. did find a new trick tho - stay in a tiny village on the train line and rail into town.
sat in the village green thinking on the kinks machine. our bed & breakfast hosts (delightful folk named sarah & malcolm) took us on a 7 hour ride thru the mountain lake district to see william wordsworth’s cottage. i sat in his back garden in his inspiration seat trying to get a feel for the olde english beat. wordsworth wrote all his famous poetry there during his 30s, but didn’t get famous until he was 66. that gives me 6 years to get famous. i keep looking for older & older 1st time famous folk cuz i’m getting older & older but ain’t getting famous. infamy doesn’t count.
find you must really want something to carry it on your back. we began with 70 pounds apiece. by the time we leave london, i’m going to be down to 40. even if you don’t carry your possessions on your back, you still carry them… little tiny prison bars.
kathy cut my nose hairs, said ‘nostril-damus’ … the nose knows, i replied.
in boot camp 1963 when we marched they had us chant this rather strange ditty - been thinking on the sickness beneath: “left left left my wife and 49 kids in starving condition without any gingerbread did i do right right right by my country hip by jingo first they hire me then they fire me that’s when i left left” etc.
haven’t watched much tv for 30-40 years. tried watching with mother dwarf when she moved in in 1991 because it mattered to her… enjoyed only 3: twin peaks, american gothic, the adventures of brisco county jr … so i’ve not much to compare british tv to. from what i’ve seen, it’s as bad as american tv with an added twist of extreme tastelessness. in europe, there are more tvs than children. think tv might be most folks marijuana, at least those who don’t drink. it keeps them from killing each other and themselves. there are sacred lies like love, honor, truth, justice, duty we use to keep from killing our families, friends and others, and then there are the profane lies like tv and alcohol we use for the same reasons. think my i.q. is too high to watch scheduled televised pablum on purpose.
dream last night - we were in some steel and glass canyon of a german city and i asked kathy where the car was. she ignored me, walked away. i was confused, went out, came back, held her arms and asked again - she laughed oddly and ran away. finally saw the sad sad sorrow in her eyes and asked her ‘am i alive?’ she shook her head no. asked her if my death was my fault - she angrily says “it might as well be as fast as you were driving.” lots more, including oddly cut holes in the expensive hotel floor. finally found out someone had killed me and i turned into jim carrey and the dream became a revenge movie with us tracking down my murderers and getting even.
much to write - having no internet access driving me buggy. in 3 days we’ll be house sitting in london for 3 weeks with broadband - then i’ll update my website and catch up on all my journey notes. what kathy and i are doing is all about the journey, nothing about the destination. this all is so right for us, so fairy tale magic. in 6 months to a year i will be so much more than i am now. bit by bit i fill the empty spaces within with good.
sieze you on the down size.
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