A large gaping mouth set on a gigantic head, held up by a tiny neck unable to swallow their desires…

The horror! The horror!!

Now I have the visual of the narcissistic view.

The fear they don’t exist…

It doesn’t take long.

A 10 hours sleep and I’m back. I feel lucky that way. I don’t take it for granted. Sometimes I get so tired I don’t think there’s a recovery left. But there it is, back, better than ever.

What a gift!

5 hours sleep. Tired

Iain came by at 10 for 30 minutes. Hadn’t seen him in years. I got my house from him a long time ago.

Received another hateful email from my ex. She appears to not be over it.

Stopped by to see Vanessa at the Market and picked up peaches.

Went to work.

Left early not feeling well.

Had an Epson salt bubble bath. All good.

The kid seems happy to see me. Nobody I know died.

She is dripping in her darkness now. Pushing words like death and pain and suffering.

“You have tangoed with the Devil to long.” Her words screamed from the page.

Then she added, “Find forgiveness for your mother.”

Obviously she is not reading this blog for forgiveness and love for mine was achieved long ago. I believe this is what the therapists refers to as projection. It is she who has not found forgiveness for her mother.

And as far as doing the tango with the Devil or anyone else, I’m afraid I just am not a dancer.

There is enough pain and madness to go around for everyone and this world just keeps on spinning.

It’s cool for Monday in July we are already into nights.

I had to ask someone for a jacket. Last night’s rain removed all the humidity and I foolishly removed all jackets from the car.

I got a letter from France, detailing the savagery of an unwell mind.

Nothing else much going on here except to say life is seldom boring.

Vacation begins in less than 2 weeks. There’s a 21 hours drive in our future that hopefully ends at an inland sea…

The Isle of Bras d’or. The Bras d’or Lakes. Paradise.

My mother is buried there. We will visit her grave and somewhere in our minds she will live again.

This is Zylia’s time. I am just the driver and financer and observer. I am the log keeper. The one with the website.

Dennis Mantin

They call the last shot of the day on a film set the “window” shot.

At 6a.m. on Sunday morning on a 6 day week I find myself caring less about what the origins of this term is…

The birds are chirping now and the morning busses are spinning by empty. I am losing my love for this vocation with each passing second. But 25 years in we seem to have found a reason to be here. I just want to be home with her.

It is not that she is so stunningly beautiful that is her great gift; it’s that she thinks she is not.

I have not been around anyone like this ever. How could such beauty go through life and not get the memo.

This is part of the gift and the conundrum because the humility required to not know this, is somewhere between astounding and unbelievable.

I keep waiting for the mask to drop and a narcisstic monster to leap out from behind this veil and yell, “Gotcha ya fuckin fool!”

And then I wake up and go back to whatever it was I was doing before this dream entered my life.