for a bastard or a ghost (i'm betting on the bastard)

i am hoping for the bastard.

zachary m steward, this better be an adventure or a lie or a mystical monk type shaman bullshit type parade party. this better be escapism or avoidance, or a grand ole fuck you. at the very least.

i could even tolerate a hideout hole in a seedy basement apartment just down the street, with mirth and mockery, with staged transmissions and omissions, with binoculars, with spies and secrets.

all that, we could laugh about later, after tanya flies to wherever we find you, and punches you hard, and hugs you harder. after she stops worrying that she is worrying too much.

i sat in the park just last night, drunk, no lights. scrawled an uneven letter (that's a lie, it was more like a plea). this happened before i knew about missing persons, and police reports, and private eyes. and your poor, poor mother.

and now even the cats can tell there is something wrong, they are moaning and mewing more than usual. trying to say something, claws dug into every surface, including skin. mostly skin.

and there is a pit, a knot, a hole- every euphamism for caring concern- dwarfing everything else in my stomach. and i garden, and try not to cry, and i cook, and try not to cry, and calm the cats, and try not to cry, and ignore the houseguests, and try not to.. well, you get the idea.

i am really not ready for the ghost. that's the most you're going to get for now.