Philip Roth said that when a man’s dying he wants his mama.  But if she’s not around any female will do.

He’s quite right.  Philip was a sharp guy.

I would add that there is something inherently perverse about human nature that makes us all want most the things that will kill us.  In my case, it’s been women that have killed me, but I cant live without one.

Ironically, I cant even have a gf because I would just take out the rage I feel for my ex-wife on her, and that relationship wouldn’t last long.

Besides, no woman with any class would want anything to do with a divorced man; that’s what people feel about such things around here.  That’s how conservative they are.

To ruin somebody you don’t have to beat them up, just shut off their options.  Pretty ingenious, that.

I picture myself in a trailer in Greenwood, Indiana in a few weeks, a trailer with a hole in the roof, no air conditioning, and windows that wont open.  Even if I survive the summer i’ll freeze to death in the winter.  Being an old man doesn’t give you much to care about.

Erblicken Sie den Mann.



I could call you Madeline Herzog and not be that far off in many ways.

Trouble is our ethnicity is all wrong for that.

I so desperately wish for once in our blond haired blue eyed WASP lives we were Catholic because then you wouldn’t leave me.  Even if you dealt with it by fucking around on me maybe I could even live with that.  But the problem has nothing to do with religion or faith.  It’s because you have no backbone.

Yesterday in the car I cussed you in German, a language you know not, some of the vilest words I remember.  Fotze.  Scmutzig, stinkinde, wertloss Fotze.  Hure von Holle.

Biegst du sich heute?  Breist du sie Ihre Beine heute aus?  These are deadly insults that make Hure von Holle (whore from hell) seem tame.  And I even finished in French, with tu es une salaud!  (You’re a cunt).

All kinds of words from all kinds of languages but one word fits from any language and that name is Iscariot.


I’ve always approached wordpress as a literary exercise.  Nothing has given me greater pleasure here and at Xanga than to entertain my friends with quality fiction that at least made them forget about everything for a while.  I’m unable to do this right now because I am in pieces.  It appears that my soon to be ex wife is going to dump me into a trailer park in the middle of Indianapolis because the Fotze is having an unprovoked mid life crisis.  I am terrified because I have lived on an isolated farm for decades and cannot deal with living in the city.  I just got out of the hospital a week ago after nearly dying of blood poisoning.  I was delirious for a couple of days and cant remember them even now.  I’m not used to being hit low like this.  I feel confused and terrified and think of Papa Hemingway in his last days and his confusion and terror.

Anyway, it is those of you who are my friends that I’m appealing to.  Any emotional support you could give would be appreciated, even just a hello.

Near Death

I nearly died.

Somehow I got a Staph infection in my urinary tract that got into my blood and nearly killed me.  Staph is all over the place but a male urinary tract is a closed affair.  If I’d been getting catheterized a lot it could have been a dirty catheter, but that wasn’t the case.  Somehow it got in there and nearly killed me.

My airhead soon to be ex wife didn’t catch it as soon as she should’ve.  Saturday night I was crawling around the bedroom floor out of my head.  My piss was coffee colored.  I don’t hold it against her that she got airheaded even in a life and death situation.  I just wished she’d been airheaded a few more hours and I would’ve been dead as hell Sunday morning.

Dying that way wasn’t so bad.  If she’d just let it alone it would’ve solved both our problems.

I used to be so afraid of dying I knew I was too cowardly to commit suicide.  Now…