It\’s Saturday in the late afternoon. The weather outside is mostly cloudy. It is too cold for how late in spring it is. The sun comes out for one minute and hides for twenty. I\’m sitting up in my bed at home in the Beacon Hill neighborhood south of Seattle. My girlfriend is curled up asleep next to me. We made a mutual promise an hour ago to not let each other fall asleep during the day; I have failed her. But there isn\’t much else to do. We\’ve spent the better part of the day reading. She\’s reading The Last Book on the Left. And I\’m reading VALIS by PKD and Symbols of Transformation by CG Jung, both of which are books that deal with a special brand of fringe theology, which will be a topic for future discussion.
While writing this, in bed, I can look out of my window to see my neighbors across the street. They\’re a young couple, and their defining feature is a combination of their trendy tight-fitting clothes and the bajillion cigarettes they smoke. This very moment, I am looking at what must be their living room window, which is open; a shiny Christmas-green velvet couch is placed in front of the window, partially blocking the window, and there is white doily placed on the green couch; during one half of the day, there is a disembodied arm, hanging over the couch, ashing a cigarette out of the window, and during the other half of the day the two of them are lounging outside, smoking. I don\’t have enough information to really judge their character, but their best and most-redeeming quality is their dog which is a german shepard mix who never barks at strangers and regularly wears a sharp-looking bandana. To be honest, I\’m pretty intimidated by their swagger (and of anyone who can afford rent in Seattle, not work, and also smoke that many cigarettes).
Passing thought: Money is the shadow of value. Value is a platonic form. Money is a congealed shadow.