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I’d forgotten how hard blogs are. There’s a story to tell and I keep thinking it’s about Nepal. I should be writing about Nepal. I am supposed to be writing The Nepal Story, after all. So, why can I not write about Nepal?

Dramatic sigh.

I was once told by my mentor to trust my instincts when piecing a narrative together, meaning I shouldn’t be so arrogant as to think I can manhandle an experience if I don’t let it unfold. My story hasn’t even unfolded yet. I want to write a redemption story that hasn’t happened, so it’s no wonder I can’t write about it. Truth be told, mine is probably not a redemption story anyway. Deep down, I know Nepal as a requisite transformative experience will be dark because, when reduced to its smallest divisible parts, Nepal is all in my head.

And there’s a writer in there, too, who refuses to shut the hell up.

From a distance, a shadowed mirage is waving at me like a summer heat reflection on hot pavement and this passage comes back to me:

         Despite our best intentions, we forget the dead.
         Do they forget us?                                  Jane Summer, “Erebus”

So. Leigh “Bindo” Binder*, if you refuse to die, I’ll just have to kill you off in a mediocre poem that’s an apology as much as a lament.

Sleeping Beauty
When the stem drooped and the petals died,
I slept
Sleeping beauty sleep

I awoke to gold
Light too bright
You offered me a dim corner

You and I shared caramelized melancholy
Like cotton candy
Adolescent sweetness, the things that grew in our heads

Restless dreams like your cigarette smoke
From a few thousand miles away
Choke me awake

Weighed together like stone
Bound and pull down like some English great, we weren’t built for this life
But mostly: Have we lived our eternity?

 

*Leigh Binder was a friend and fellow writer, who died two years ago leaving only his writing and YouTube videos (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-43KL2khFHhJ-LmRqA-y2A) to haunt me.

I went back to read your words
But they aren’t there
They aren’t to be found
The website says
Nothing here

There’s nothing there

Was there ever?
If I can’t read the words
I can’t be sure I ever knew you

You always knew I was of flightly, flimsy flesh
So why take the words from me
Why is there nothing there?

image

MedicatedLady: who let the dogs out, bindo?
Bindo: I love dogs and sunshine and butterflies. I welcomed the sun’s light this morning and rejoiced in the sound of birds’ singing.
ML: What? Are you okay?
B: I love puppies!
ML: You’re using exclamations points these days?
B: For the sake of puppies, yes! You have a right pretty Poppy-dog.
ML: Thanks. Are you planning to murder puppies?
ML: Come down from the roof, bindo. You don’t need to do this.
B: Don’t make me do it because I will.
ML: Just calm down.
B: You drove me to it. Fine, here goes, I’ll say it. I’m a reasonable facsimile of happiness.
ML: You disgust me.

Bindo let me interview him for my blog. You know you will giggle as I did. (I suppose I should admit I’m not sure if the pronounciation is biiiiindo or beeendo.)

Bindo’s note to you, dear reader. Before I answered any of Medicated Lady’s questions, I felt it necessary to put on Beck’s “Sea Changes” undoubtedly, the most depressing record ever made. Hmm, where are my smokes? Ah, here they are! OK, everything is in place, Ashtray? Check!…Lighter?..Check!.. Coffee? Check! And now……

1. Can you describe your Dark Place? 

Very dark, like a black hole, but with a great paint job and tasteful window treatments.

2. Where does your writing inspiration come from? 

It comes from years of being on the road, smoking, drinking coffee, drugs and booze, hundred’s of dead end jobs and a ridiculous amount of meaningless sex.

3. How did Bindo, the writer, become Bindo, the writer?

After being fired or quitting hundreds of dead end jobs (for good and not so good reasons), it occurred to me that I wasn’t good at anything except writing about not being good at anything.

4. In a no-holds barred, caged fight, who would you want as your “wrasslin” ally: Bryan or me? Also, who would you be up against?  

That’s tough, because you are both extremely cute and I am shallow on many levels. But I think considering everything, I would have you on my team because I could sit back, light a smoke and watch your luminous hair flying as you leap through the air to put the kabash on our opponents…

Segue way?

That would have to be Bryan and The Dalai Lama. First, well ya know, I get to wrestle with Bryan but mostly, I just like to win.

5. I’m at my happiest when I’m terribly depressed. I am allergic to fire ant venom. Is there any circumstance in which you’d ever want to be eaten by a grizzly bear?

Funny you should ask. I was out hunting bear, back in my Hemmingway days. I had a big grizzly in my sight, pulled the trigger and fired. The bear dropped to the ground. I ran over and the bear was no where. I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned and saw the grizzly. He said, “you have two choices: One, I maul and eat you or Two, you let me have my way with you.”

At the time I was feeling very prolific and didn’t want to die at the moment, which is always a strange feeling, so I opted for backdoor number two. Well, I was depressed over my rape and was going home. When I saw the grizzly again, I sighted him up and pulled the trigger. He dropped like a bad habit. I ran over to celebrate my victory over the horny bear but he was no where to be found. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and there he was with a grizzly smile. He looked at me and said, “You’re not here for hunting are you?”

Be sure to check out bindo’s site:http://bindo.wordpress.com/

Bryan has also reviewed one of bindo’s books on his blog: http://poeticgrin.com/2009/07/03/smoke-breaks-by-bindo/

SOB with me

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