Our output of failure has hardly been unremitting. We've only been able to fail sporadically, for reasons having to do with a blank mind, adamantine depression, and actual work that we're unable to avoid.
But we're not going to let that stop us today. Today we intend to blog, damn it, come hell or high water.
Last night we spent the night at our apartment at the Woodner. We hadn't been there for well over a month, and we weren't looking forward to it. It's a bleak space, enlivened only by the poster over our bed of Berlin in ruins. Otherwise the walls are bare, as are the cupboards. We stood in the entryway, inhaled the pungent aroma emanating from the kitchen that is the entryway, and nearly wept. Of all the apartments we've lived in, this is the only one that has ever caused us to scour the cabinets for a spare noose.
What did we do then? We watched an exhibition pro football game. That's a sure sign of desperation right there. Watching exhibition pro football is an admission that you're a loser, especially if you're not a f-ball fanatic to begin with.
Then we read a book called "Driver" by James Sallis, which is not very good. It's full of empty mental calories, and is not filling. "Driver" is a stunt driver and professional getaway driver, and his dialogue is terse. He talks the way we did when we had a broken jaw and speaking was very difficult, so we turned taciturn for six weeks. It's an insufferable book and we don't recommend you read it.
We're just rambling, but we don't care. We HAVE to write something, even if it's just blather about our boring return to the Woodner, whose halls echo with ancient cries of despair. Last night for a change the police were not parked in the circular driveway, and we were convinced that it'd lost its perkiness until we encountered a bag of trash in the elevator. That was reassuring. The building was not losing its bottom-of-the-barrel charm.
We're pretty sure the place is haunted, by the ghost of a silent film actress who spent her final days living there, but the lady avoids our apartment, even though we could use the excitement.
