February 27, 2005

I suppose it's about time to start this, the Sixth Year of the New Millennium. It's nearly March, after all. Today is my sister Amanda's 35th birthday. Whoa! That ought to really twist her head around. Well, I know it did me. In just a few weeks surrounding my 35th, all kinds of head-twisting shit went down. Let's see, there was 9/11, my first suicide attempt, the realization that alcoholic psychosis was shredding the nest I'd so nicely built for me & my girl in New Mexico, then poof! the end of a five year relationship and a fast, weird slide into the Third Year of the New Millennium, which is not what this about at all, is it? Ah, the talent for tangents astounds.

Speaking of dumbfounding prose, my favorite cousin Justin has finally joined the ranks of ranters (known to the Web as bloggers). I peruse his Beeflog everyday and so should you!

So, the year in review. Let's go backwards just for fun! And let's start with right now, with me, naked in bed basking in the residual pheromones of my Sicilian lover, up and out at dawn. I feel godlike, angelic, some weird gypsy prince who apparently did something right and has been rewarded with this, my suspended nest high off the turntable yet dead-center atop the spindle in some giant alien egg deep in the desert, like a combination of the Egg Chair and one of those seventies record players with the tall spindle on which you'd stack records so the music would continue, licorice pizza after licorice pizza dropping into place and cueing up, jukebox-like.


Last night it was good lovin, and yesterday a poem written. Day before that I finished and posted my eulogy to the Great Doctor. In the past week there was a lot of weeping and sleeping, a fun full-moon party with my host Kathleen and friend Rocko, and just more of the past month's norm. Or has it been two months? Three?

Hibernation. That's right. I am a bear, and I am sleeping the winter away without a care. I figure I earned it. Six and a half months afoot in the mountains eating bugs and spiders and being sexually tormented by the lingering pheromones of another Italian, this one a wood nymph who followed this poor bear all the way to Oz, batting her eyelashes and going to bed with her boyfriend. Yes, I have earned a good winter's rest here in the poppy fields beyond the trail.

Oh, yes, which brings us back to the year in review. Ah, well, I hiked 2000 miles, canoed another 100, white-water rafted in northern Maine (twice running the Class Five-plus gauntlet below the Kennebec River dam), saw God and chatted with Thoreau atop Maine's tallest peak, came down, let a bunch of hottie hiker chicks autograph my back with a Sharpie, flew home to the West, weaned myself off whiskey & cocoa only to lunge for Prince Valium on Election Day and ride out the delirium of November and December with him, he and Sister Mary of Our Lady of Boxed Wine.

And aside from a January stint squatting at the 30-year abandoned Road Runner's Refuge on Old Route 66 in the Mojave 100 miles from the nearest store for two weeks and being rudely rousted by the cops despite my verifiable credentials as part-time Hollywood location scout and bear-in-hibernation, well, that pretty much sums up the past year. Good? Very well, then. On with whatever comes next.

-Lord Duke RSM

It's Our Torch Now
(New rants beginning with the most recent)

10/10: Mohave Desert Squat

6/17: Hiking In Hopes..

5/19: Awake on Moose Pond

4/27: Extreme Personal Danger

4/12: Equilibrium Envy

4/5: Calling on Orion to Fuck
The Demons from Tanya's Bosom

4/3: Nathan & The Scarlet Sea

3/31: In Bed With A Newt

3/28: Gretchen, Gonzo, & Grucifixion in the Desert

3/25: Funneling Home to Bisbee

3/23: Tumbler & the Witch

3/17: Year of the Cock

2/24: Molly One Weekend

2/23: R.I.P. Hunter

2/14: Straw Bale Peace
& The Dirt Police

2/12: Embracing Your Inner Beef

1/1: Hibernation Resolution

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