Head in a Box

Over a year ago I helped start an Al-anon meeting downtown here in the Fan because me and a friend got tired of going out to the suburbs three times a week. We're listed here however they got the time wrong. However I'm skipping tonight because I've got some independent work to do. I stopped by Plan 9 on the way home and picked up the third album by Fu Manchu, mid-nineties Southern California skateboard stoner metal. This being not even the backup or the third or fourth choice of what I was looking for, because for all their indy-cred snobbery Plan9 has has fuck-all for Doom Metal these days. I need something slow, meditative and heavy for what I'm working on, having to do with deep old hurts. I started a piece of this endeavor last winter. It's also another reason why I haven't been making much art lately. I have so much to tell you about and it feels like I got no fucking time.

Ruth told me to write this though: Late in the day today we were trucking over the James by way of the Robert E. Lee Bridge headed for the Hopkins road transfer station to dump our freight. Gloria, who was sitting in the middle kept nodding out onto my shoulder. It had been raining all day. I scanned out over the river looking for my friends the Ospreys when I noticed a couple islands I'd never paid much attention to before. Just boulders lodged in the flow really, but they had at least one big ass Sycamore each. I noticed a huge nest in the upper reaches, much bigger it seemed than an Osprey's. Further up the branches I saw a hulking black shape and after a second more of staring intently I saw it had a white head. A fucking bald fucking eagle. We were bumping along, going maybe fifty and I can't believe I picked it out. I've never seen an eagle in Virginia. I'm almost down there looking for him now and for some reason I kinda don't want you to tell anybody about him.