Mister Scribbles

    T. Quintius Rufius, slashing through the enemy lines.  With the death of my beloved cat Monster, I have tried to escape this world through a prolonged drunk.  I wish my problems could be solved by mere violence.  I wish I was a brave and charismatic warrior, not to mention handsome.      The other night a guy I don't know came by and gave me a broken dreadnought guitar.  He made predictions and left.  I did not get his name.  The guitar is almost fixed and I am rebuilding it into a much better instrument.  This is a true story.       Putting flowers on Monster's grave.  A fucked up piece of graphic self-pity if there ever was.  And the work of a swishy unstable bloody minded rabbit.

     Monster, my lovely cat who showed up skinny and starving in 2008, was put to sleep today at 7 Central Standard Time.  He had been rat poisoned, and I had to make the call.  I held him as he died.       I love you Monster, and will see you at the bridge, and not too long from now, I guess.      Happy hunting big guy, I will never forget you.       Many thanks to the Doctors and Staff of the Am/Pm Animal Hospital on South Lamar, Austin Tx. They could not have been more kind to us.

     Sitting by the river weighing my heart against a feather.  It does not look good.  I seem to be unable to finish anything.  I can't get warm.  I need money and it is all my fault that I am poor.  I don't seem to get along with a lot of people.  My judgement, always poor, is getting worse.  I feel old.  I look not the way I would like to.  Things are in the saddle!