Over the line
2005-04-17— Posted by: allegra
Since Ann Coulter, bless her anthracite like ticker, is making the cover of Time Magazine this week; I thought I’d present an opposing view. My comments on this woman from previous posts stand.
Had a lovely time at the John B last night – I actually got off my fat tuchis and danced.
$3.25 for Soda, though. Grr.
Today it’s laundry, and commiserating with Keith after he comes home from a job fair (but the money is really good), and commiserating with Kate, who is having a hard time about one thing and another. She is still asleep. Also cleaning all the not so great songs and pix off the hard drive. Man, 10 Gb don’t go nearly as far as they useta.
Keith is thinking maybe he needs to cut his hair, and I said, well get it done professionally and make sure you donate your hair for a wig. He really does have tremendous hair.
Paul is bugging me to volunteer for the election. I knows I should, but I’m feeling so unsociable and irritable these days that it’s all I can do to be civil to people who love me.
The weather looks like it’s cleaning up so I’m going to have a dig around in the driveside flowerbed. Hope you all have a productive and peaceable day.
2005-04-17— Posted by: allegra
About the Monstrous Visitation the other night.
After about half an hour of very stilted conversation, with Monny no help, Chachka gave me up as a dead loss and started wandering aimlessly through the upstairs rooms. I didn’t realize at first what it was doing. Monny had become both immobile and unresponsive, and given the size of my guest, giving it a good swift kick seemed like a very poor idea. If it really was there, I was in BIG trouble, and if it really was NOT there, I was going to be flat on my ass subsequent to flinging myself through empty space.
Startling me out of my violent reverie, Fanny spoke for the first time. The voice was unlike anything I had ever heard. It was a horrible voice, but at the same time compelling my attention. It said, My name is Phantom Load. My companion annoys me by giving me a pet name.
Okay, I say. Then I ask, because I am really tactless, Are you a boy or a girl?
My eyes flash round to all of them. Monny is benignly regarding a sock on the floor, Fanny never takes her (dang – she is NOT a girl, and I keep referring to it as female) eyes from me, and Chachka is rolling its eyes and continuing to talk nonstop. In a grating, horrible voice that made one feel run over by a steam roller of spikes.
It was monster night in Canada.
Fanny does not answer my question. As always I sit in front of my ignorance and yell at it for a while, but quietly.
I remember following Chachka around, trying to drown out the outside world with my own thoughts. So Monny brought up what we are both worried about the other night. Monny is a very powerful hallucination produced by worry, and now my worry is bringing worry in the door. Two worries. They are both nicer looking, in their way, than Monny is. Monny is not a nice colour, in fact it is hard to describe what he looks like without mentioning dead things at least once.
Fanny has eyes made of lightning. Not accurate, but that is sure how it looks.
Chachka – and it agrees that its name is Chachka – is this obscene object in red and gold and black and a bunch of other colours that poops little plastic toys. I’m sorry, but everytime I review this hallucination, my recollection of it is quite clear.
There were little Pez dispensers with the first cartoon Dick Tracy, and Kinder Surprise toys that I had heard of but never seen. And they covered damned near every surface, it was a masterpiece of excess, and I kept following it through the top floor. It never went into the apartment downstairs to bug John.
All in all it was quite a show. The little toys disappeared in the order they appeared. I did not even attempt to record the onslaught; it was like trying to analyze an avalanche, an avalanche made out of pretty garbage, while standing in it.
I paid the most attention to Chachka because it was um, very demanding of attention. Meantime Fanny is standing next to me, needling me. It was quite the refinement of torture, and Monny did not move during the entire evening – and as I recollect I had to go to work the next day, so I could have used some assistance in quelling the rowdiness. So I did eventually crash, and they did not follow me into my bedroom (they are justifiably frightened of Paul) and I realized I had a lever and threatened to wake Paul up and they left, no problem. When it was safe I went to the bathroom and noticed Elastigirl (trademark) on the bathroom towel railing, and a trick of the light made her look like she was grimacing. It was pretty uncanny.
And that’s more or less what happened. It was much more intense than a dream, but as is always the case, they appear when nobody else is around, so if I talk about it I’ll appear crazy. I’m talking about it to you, but when I tell you, then it’s just a story; it doesn’t have to be true, except in the details.