The Gift of Enlightment at Private Writer Yoga Retreat
February 7, 2008
Surely you know a person who needs help. Why not offer them a gift that keeps on giving? Enlightenment. Send your damaged friend to the Nameless Top-Secret Writers/Yoga Vermont Retreat. They”ll be forever in your debt. Certainly you say that you care about your friend but actions speak louder than words. So does money. Call your depressed, lazy, self-obsessed friend today and tell them to expect a miracle. They’re expecting one anyway.
Assistant Guru’s Chosen for Top-Secret Vermont Writer’s Retreat
December 23, 2007
Del Long, of Newport, Rhode Island and Death Valley, Arizona, has been named Assistant Guru at the Top-Secret Dr. Casey Vermont Writer/Yoga Retreat, along with drug-runner, Harry Slidell, and Escort, Donna Botchkin. Del will spend one hour a year meditating on the meaning of life at the Retreat. This hour will be video-taped and made available to graduates of the Retreat Program. Del has been enlightened since 1968, while serving in Vietnam as a helicopter pilate. Harry Slidell, of New Orleans, has been selling drugs since 1988, and provides alcoholics with liver damage alternatives to cheap booze. Donna Botchkin, who runs a very successful Escort Service in Boston, will offer a two-hour talk on Tax Evasion and the Missionary Position. Mr. Matt Macintire, of Washington, D.C. has offered to develop an on-site pottery installation consisting of cups and saucers. Ms. Rebecca Baxter, of Sarasota, Florida will join Dr. Casey’s brother, Philip Casey, Jr. for a photographic field expedition of manure pies. They will work in conjunction with Harry Slidell, who is developing a manure substance that can be inhaled.
The picture: This is my dear old friend, Del, and we have the same birthday. So what? Del got me started writing in 1994 or 5. We were dating, living in Brooklyn, but not together, and he decided to travel cross country with Paul Geremia, the guitarist. Del was going to play piano and keep Paul company. That left me in Brooklyn with nothing to do except pine away because at that point I didn’t want to do anything but sit on top of him, drink wine, sleep, go to a movie.
There is somebody in my house in Vermont. A nice man is renting my house and I am thrilled because that man is renting my house and sending me money so that I can rent an apartment in Providence. Now, wait a minute. Does this make sense? I thought so, a few weeks ago, when I was working here, singing, planning, organizing, hob-knobbing, but as of today, as I lugged a bunch of my crap up two flights of stairs on the East Side, all the while knowing I would have to lug the crap back down the two flights of stairs a few months from now— as of today, I thought to myself, “Gee, I don’t feel very good in my head” I sat on the stairs, dirty stairs, very dirty, and considered my situation. I blamed the town of Bridport , Vermont, for not having a Dunkin Donut’s or a Cafe, a bar or a nightclub, a college, tennis courts, health club, movie theater. Then I blamed myself for wanting those things. Then I blamed myself for having those things here in Providence and not taking advantage of them because I like staying home and reading in bed. Now, if I like staying home and reading in bed, why don’t I just move back to my own home, in Bridport, and wait out the winter with Charles Dickens and Mark Twain? Now that I have rented my house, I miss it. It is not available. That is why I was so sad today, moving into what I thought was a nice apartment on the East Side. It is somebody elses house and always will be, no matter how many knick knacks, rugs, paintings, books, personal items I stuff into it. Renting makes me feel insecure, more insecure than worrying about how to pay my property tax. It’s silly, because none of us own anything fully. Still, sombody is in MY house and i am in somebody else’s house, and it’s ridiculous in a way that I can’t quite comprehend and it is making me very very sad.