Bushwacker

The homeless people who live in front of the closed gay bar, few blocks from my apartment, have a nicer sofa than I do. 

I hate guns. I wish we didn’t need them. That said, where in Alaska I want to live, alone, by myself, requires guns. I’ll put $600 aside for a decent 12 gauge shotgun. And I think I saw online where I could get a tranquilizer gun for $300. Tranquilizer gun for bears. 12 gauge shotgun to thwart off hunters, hippies, politicians, and other undesirable trespassers. 

As I’m researching job options in Alaska, it seems bush pilots really are big deal. They are in fact the number one travel resource getting to and from the airport, delivering UPS style packages, and transporting goods and merchandise to stores and businesses. Damn, Maggie. I knew I watched every episode of NORTHERN EXPOSURE for a reason. Maybe I’ll meet a high strung twitchy New York Jewish doctor? God I hope not. 12 gauge! 

Even if I don’t live in Alaska, I can still work there during my present job’s off season, November through March. Yes, I’m seriously considering this. It’s far more interesting than rotting away at a senior community home in Palm Springs, which is where I was headed in 4 1/2 years.

You really do turn old overnight. My dad was a very handsome man-about-town until one day he simply wasn’t anymore. He just got old, decisively. The same thing happened to me. I still look amazing, genetics, but I ache to live in a log cabin with a fireplace, out in the middle of nowhere, me and a rocking chair surrounded by nature, quiet simplicity. A couple of dogs. A cat. Johnny Cash, playing on the turn table. Fuck my peace, you get the 12 gauge.

I started a new large scale drawing. This is only the outline. Oh sure it just looks like a bunch of lines but that’s all drawings are. Wait for it. It gets better as I go. It always does.