The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 134
Maybe I had wrecked it. Maybe I wanted to wreck it, I told Sabrina.
Truth is I was worn down to near nothing from games, secrets, conditionality, hidden motive, spin, lies, propaganda, tribal logic, ignorance, the watering down of splendor and awe through the slender, seductive fingers of capitalist/tech content, masking authoritarian intent.
Yeah, man, I was the Miles Bunnel character in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, except I’d no energy left to warn the others.
There were no others.
Only Jones, Liz, El, Bruce… and they already knew.
Only them, it seemed, and maybe, just maybe, whoever it was who had just pulled up and was knocking on my front door.
Saturday, 10AM. July 2, 2017. Oh. Right. Another real estate agent. Forgot.
Petite. China doll skin. Bouncy black bob hairdo.
She sticks a business card in my face and instantly realizes something is off with my vision. Seems wherever we stand in the house or backyard or studio she’s always backlit, so I’m unable to make out the details of her face.
Following her is a mom/daughter team. The daughter, the interested party, is a film school grad. Columbia U. But she isn’t interested. Too much highway noise. “Plus,” she says, “that godawful trailer park. Jesus,” she continues, stepping inside the studio, a poodle with a cone on its head in her arms, “how do you stand… (a gasp, a pause as she looks around) is this yours? The artwork, I mean?”
Me: It is. Yes.
Her: Do you show anywhere? Palm Springs? LA?
Me: Uh, well, I’m not really pursuing it anymore. I have vision problems that make it difficult, unenjoyable. Glaucoma, specifically.
Her: (Suddenly depressed) But you must have some creative outlet…
Me: Yeah. I do. I’m currently working on a novel. Not that that’s a helluva lot easier, visually speaking.
Now she’s really depressed.
Melissa: So, what’s your situation? I mean, when the property sells.
Me: I’m no longer selling art. So, a Social Security income only. And nothing I’ve run across so far—not here, not even in other states—is within range. So, I don’t know. Homelessness seems likely.
The daughter starts crying and runs out.
Melissa: Don’t be absurd. I’ll find you something… TODAY. Send me an email with your contact info. I’ll make a couple calls.
We walk out into the sunlight and I see Melissa’s eyes for the first time. There’s something there. That same remarkable splash of elan I’ve seen in Jones’ eyes, Liz, Bruce, El, and that, until now, was vanishing from mine.