Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Day 30 -- Camera Irony / Tomorrow Will Be The Trauma

The ironic thing about the much bemoaned lost camera charger is actually two ironic things.

First of all, at the time the charger was misplaced (americanino sftanza boolshitting around cripple), the SD card was just about full.

Why didn't I have an extra (or several extra) SD cards?  That is an excellent question.  I am not clear as to if my companions had an extra SD card in the event their videographic vision exceeded present storage capacity.  Maybe that is an ignorant = dumb americanino question.  Besides, the videography slowed considerably after Copenhagen, because (?).

The second ironic thing is that within an hour of returning to my population 5000 savage retard town in the middle of a barren nothing and anti-culture nowhere, I was able to find not one, but two generic battery chargers at The Source--your place for all your savage retard electronic needs.  One for $25CDN, which is what, like 8 Euro, and the other (a more streamline model) for$65CDN, which is somewhere around 12 Euro.

And yet, not Stockholm, nor Helsinki, nor Copenhagen, nor Berlin, nor Galdakao (did I spell that right?) nor Rome with all its dog shit or Perugia had a similar device for purchase.

Maybe my camera is a Savage Retard Americanino Brand (Olympus) and only uses Savage Retard size batteries, chargeable only by Savage Retard battery chargers, for purchase only in Savage Retard stores, all over Savageretardia, BC?  That could very well be.  No matter.  The past is over.  Not like there was anything to see in Helsinki or Copenhagen or Berlin or Galdakao or Rome with all its dog shit or Perugia.  Besides, I can find all the pictures I want on the web.

Anyhow, for those who are counting, (and really, who's counting) David mentioned the missing charger 8 times before 11am and 3 times there after--for a grand total of 36 times in the 7 days of travelling without.  While in Perugia, he did so with really good reason (I mean, everything David says is with and for good reason, but this time, especially so.)  Perugia is stunning.  Buildings standing and still in use from before that troublemaking hippy Jew carpenter started to up-end the capitalist's carts in the temple, and healing people with Cannabis and other such nonsense.

And do you know the name of the civilization that pre-dated the Romans?  If the answer is no, and you went to "college", then you are extra ignorant, extra ignorant = extra dumb, which if you are an americanino savage retard, is redundant.

(The answer is Etrurians, you americanino cripple idiot.)

Another irony only partially related to the missing camera charger is that one of the key buildings of note around where we were staying was the Perugia School for Foreigners.  Hopefully they understand there is no educating the Americanino / Savage Retard.

Along the ride, perhaps into Bologna, it was "asked" :

Why do you play music your ego what do you mean your music shitting around on the horn in your rubbish house?

Another excellent question.  An equally question is what precipitated this line of questioning, at that particular moment?

Eventually we made our way to Bologna.  I marvelled at all the cigarette butts coating this ancient city like cherry blossom pedals after a brisk spring wind.

There were two sketchy fucks walking around, in and out of the train.  One was wearing a "Rt. 66" tee shirt.  Later I was informed that they were gypsies, and after that, informed gypsies will spray you with mace, or pepper spray, rob you, and perhaps slash you a few times with their gypsy knives just to do.  The Rt. 66 shirt was the give-away.  Americanino culture, nothing but trouble...embraced by only the lowest scum of the earth.

Later into the trip, perhaps the 4th mode of transportation, David kindly let me know "Tomorrow will be the trauma, you will not have Virginia as your pilot.  Will you be OK?  And Monday, you will return to your shitty life."

On the Final bus ride, Virginia pressed the "stop requested" no avail!  Brother just kept on going.  After more button pressing and animated dialectic, the kind civil servant let us out of the bus...a bit further away from our final destination than where we had hoped.  David and Virginia kindly walked the rest of the way back to the house to get the car.  I sat at the bus stop (with no seats) with all the luggage, and no camera charger, and a bit of a disconcerting insect bite over where my heart used to be and several dozen other thoughts all simultaneously competing for primacy.

Once we arrived home, I started to put water on things that wanted them.  Beans, Squash, empty drinking bowls for animals...  It seemed like the right thing to do...for me more than the plants or animals.

Once plants and animals secured, Virginia materialized the last supper.  Other than hard work and lots of experience, I don't know how she was able to make so much flavour with those pantry items remaining after 3 weeks away and G-d's gifts in the great outdoors surrounding the Jooklo property.

After checking, rechecking, bathing, drying, packing, repacking, tying my trusty Land's End Book bag together with purple hemp twine because the zipper broke.  You can only fool me thrice with those Lands End book bags.  I should probably get me a proper Norwegian Leather book carrying briefcase thing.  Monogrammed, too.  Perhaps in Kanji.

By 2:30am we were listening to the recording from Ghent.  I think.  Loaves of shit with flecks of corn, or cobs of corn with flecks of shit?  At 2:30 am after 14 hours of travelling and 19 hours of being awake, am I in any place to say? And what if I said "shit with occasional corn!"?  And what if I said "cobs of corn with a fleck of shit!"?  And what if I said "Creamed Corn, no fibre, passed through fine sieve"?  What difference would it make to anyone?  Did it even make a "difference" when it was happening?  All the bad things I do will go up in smoke and so will I, said some "Chinese" or another.

What if I told you everything that can be said about music can only be said with music?

I stared at the pink walls of the Jooklo residence and listened to whatever the fuck it was I was listening to for another half hour in a welcome state of disbelief and confusion.

In bed, 3am.

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