cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There's No Some journalist started emailing me for an article that she wants to write for a magazine. She keeps asking me for contacts and resources for this article. She wants to write an article about hunt1ng deer as a critical part of the l0cal food movement and about e@ting invasive spec1es. I don't know how to explain this to her without sounding arrogant. There are no other resources. I invented both of these things. I spent the last 3 years of my life as an advocate for these things. She keeps asking me to put her in touch with people and books and websites that can explain this shit. What the fuck? Lady, I'm it. She doesn't seem to get it. Doesn't acknowledge the possibility that one person could be responsible for either of these things, let alone both of them, let alone that she might have chanced across that one guy. Whatever. Her magazine is podunk regional shit that I don't even care about. There's a local alt-weekly that wants to do a profile-type cover story on me. Tell the whole story that hasn't been told in full yet. Maybe that could work out. Maybe they could get it. ____________ I'm a hero to a lot of people. They write me fan mail and tell me about their lives. That's a hard thing to swallow. I'll never be exactly the man they hope that I am. ____________ The bats came out as the sun fell. They dodged around in the sunset hitting moths and mosquitoes over the pond. I looked at them. I gripped my rod and slung it back and then whipped it over and the lure went flying up into the dusk and the bats dove for the lure and just missed a wicked treble hook falling into the black water with a splash. There's no meat on bats anyhow. ____________ I wonder if I can tell so much as a tenth part of what I've seen and known. Oh, I can say that the lure hit the water and that it was red and black. But it was red and black with zig-zagging patterns of salmon red sunset and inky black night intermingling on the water's surface. There's no way that anyone who has spent their life in front of a computer screen can understand it. I'm not sure there's even a common language any more between me and the world. 1:59 a.m. - 2011-09-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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