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07.16.01 4:30 p.m.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dream. Wandering by lone sea breakers, and sitting by desolate streams. World losers and world forsakers, for whom the pale moon gleams. Yet we are movers and the shakers of the world forever it seems.


 -Arthur O'Shaunessey 



So there is this bird.
No, really. A bird. More specifically, a large parrot. Most specifically, a Blue-Faced Amazon.
In my house we have three Jende Conures, which are the closest things to demons allowed by nature to manifest in this dimension. Oh, sure, they are beautiful to look at. But I advise you just get a photo, because Jendes shriek loudly and often. It is often so high pitched that my dog moans in agony. Before we clipped their wings religiously, they would fly in formation and attack people with their claws and beaks. Though small, they are vicious. Kate used to dart immediately into my room upon entering my house for fear they would seek to destroy her. They also bit the toe off our newer parakeet because they are sadistic.
So clearly you would see why I was upset upon the addition of a much larger, understandably angry parrot to our avian menagerie. Supposedly, it is just a guest. It will be leaving fairly soon. And I would truly like to believe this was the case, but I know my mother far too well. She had me name it! She is growing attached and we have had it for less that 24 hours.
So, here is the story. Yesterday, while I was avoiding going to my older brother's party because I was feeling less than stellar, I got a call from my younger brother's driving instructor. Matt, as this is the driving instructor's name, informed me that there was a parrot up in his tree. I counted our bird and arrived at the right number. I informed him that it wasn't one of ours, thanks for the courtesy, blah, blah, blah, adieu-cakes... he asked if my parents would come over to retrieve it. The request struck me as highly odd and I said I would relay the information to my parents, fully expecting they would have my reaction of amused disinterest.
Unfortunately, I underestimated my mother. She remembered that parrots need to eat their body weight in a day or some such thing. So she seized my father away from my brother's party and they went to rescue this creature.
It growls at us quite a bit. So far no one has come forward to claim it. We have checked the papers, no ads have been posted. We are going to get stuck with it.
Ah, and its name, that I came up with in less than three seconds. Well, a man named Matt found it on Dorothy Lane. Clearly its name is DorMatt (Doormat). This is why I should not be entrusted to name things.

I enjoy having my own room. I have adopted a very nice unemployed schedule. Last night, around 1:30 AM, I decided I wanted to clean and organize my room. In a frenzy, I tore it apart and organized my microcosm a bit. It is looking very nice, though it isn't quite done.
I also, for background noise, put on MTV and ended up feeling emotionally attached to the characters on Undressed, in as much as anyone can feel for cardboard. Late night television is the gleefully indulged in bane of brain cells.

Tonight Emily is spending the night. She is taking summer courses at New Paltz and, until she is done, she has decided that she is going to spend every Monday here. My home is closer and I can help her with her math homework. Although my "help" usually consists of being positive and reading, as math is not exactly my forte, she still seems appreciative. It certainly is an arrangement I enjoy and it is nearly magical to have her fall asleep on my chest at night.

My mother and younger brother were shocked when I informed them that I have only been with Emily for two months. They thought we had been coupled far longer. Venessa shared this idea. I wonder what it could be about us to provide such a conception?


reading: Communion: A True Story, Whitley Strieber
listening: Sarah singing to me (my tape of her is dying)
wanting: Emily, here.
interesting thought: Some people can just be incredibly disagreeable wretches no matter how nice the world it to them.
moment of zen: Awaking from a dream about Sarah.

Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. Double Dragon publishes four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, and Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.



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