On the Flats

Dried up, a guitar upon my knee
I should have sold out when the devil came for me
Dig a hole and throw it out to sea
Break the code, how happy I could be

I still wave at the dots on the shore
And I still beat my head against the doorI
still rage and wage my little war
I'm a shade and easy to ignore
-Porcupine Tree

Well, still trying to find a flat that’s livable, the place I saw tonight was clean, but the room didn’t even have a desk, was 6 x 12 AND they wanted a year contract. And it was way to the north and had no local neighborhood. “Does it have Internet?” I asked.

“No, but you can steal it.”

Are these people kidding?

I talked to this guy yesterday. I asked if I could come down and see the flat. He said sure. I got there 40 minutes later. “I’m here to see the falt. Jay Greco, we spoke on the phone half an hour ago.”

“I have 77 flats I represent.” He was English but had that annoying “I could give a fuck” attitude that so many Spanish have. Here we go again, I thought.

He goes “It’s $450 E.” Like I’m going to take it without seeing it. Lazy fuck. I told him I’d like to see it first. “Oh, I’m too busy right now.”

“I called you at half twelve,” I said. “You said you could show it to me.”

“No,” he said with an evil smile. “I tried to explain that I could explain it to you if you came down.” This douche bag spoke perfect English. And by the way, so I do. I walked out and slammed the door.”

And so the search for housing continues. I called the company I rented this cell from. He couldn’t understand me for shit. When I cursed him out, he miraculously began to understand that my lease ran out in ten days. “We’ll find you a place, we’re just busy now.”

“Fuck you. I paid you a 50 E deposit.”

“We’ll find you a place, I guarantee. Now what was your name…”

It’s nice to be made to feel so welcome.

So there it is - the staggering lows you suffer to experience the dizzying highs. Oh well. I’ve done worse. I did once spend 8 hours in Trench Town jail cell …and I escaped with my bunghole intact. But that’s another story.

So I’ll get to school early tomorrow and begin searching the Internet again. There’s still a good chance I’ll find another place by next Sat. Otherwise, it’s another month in the house of horrors.

I’ve thought about coming home, but it’s way too early to give up. Couple this with the fact that the home I’ve known the past 6 years, and more so the last 15 months with Frippy, no longer exists. Soon Darth will be back. And then the birth of either my daughter or Mordred(ina). Talk about UFO (Unlimited Freak Out). So in a way, I have been cast adrift. It’s also kind of finally hit me that I have some major emotional shit to deal with after all that has gone down the past four months. Well, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I am convinced I will never die.

-

The moon is back in phase, though only a sliver on its bottom. Makes me feel better anyway. Makes me think of all of you a world away. I also found a pack of Marlboro lights with one cig and a lighter in it in my leather jack – they belonged to the Russian Bird. She had asked me to hold them. Isn’t it amazing how another human being’s possessions can flood you back with memories? I stuck it into a spot on the little TV that hangs from the wall that only gets six channels, and not Canal +, which shows football (what the hell’s the point?). Anyway, it makes me smile when I see them.

A grew a goa-tee to look less gringo-American, more Spanish and more like the Professor de Ingles I soon will be. My hair also grows longer by the week. Anyway, after about two weeks, it was time to trim my beard. I plugged in my beard trimmer into one of these crazy Euro outlets (with the power converter) and it fried. Finito. Termina.

So I got a new one today. There was a nice old man behind the counter (An Elderly Old Man Behind the Counter of a Small Tienda). I gave him a ten Euro bill and was counting out the single Euro coins. He saw the rune the Sisters Chaos (Mel and Janet) had given me for Christmas in my hand. He pointed to it, I guess mistaking it for a 2 Euro coin. I found enough change and gave it to him and said, “No, no currencia, es un rune.” He asked to see it, so I gave it to him. I translated as best I could – “Keep esa con tu while viaje y sabe tu eres esta aqui en su hearts.” Then he read it aloud himself. Guess he knew English – “Keep this with you while away and know you are here in our hearts.” I carry it with me everyday.

“Very nice,” he said.
“Si,” I said. “Si.”

-

I remember walking home from the disco on Saturday with the Russian Bird on my arm at like 6:30 AM. I guess I was singing. Since my iPod was stolen, I often sing to myself. Who the fuck can understand me anyway?

“Why do you sing?” Natasha asked.

“Because I’m happy.” She seemed satisfied with my answer.

“What do you sing?” I’m sure she had somehow smoked a cigarette in-between the exchange.

“It’s a band called Porcupine Tree.”

She smiled that Red Army stopping smile of hers. “Porcupine Tree?”

“Yes.”

“I no know them.”

“That’s alright,” I said. “No one does.”

But I do. And I think they’re the best prog rock band to come out of the 90’s, hands down. And I guess that’s all that really matters. Doesn’t it?