If The Devil Is Six Then Where Is Heaven?

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I take Ivan's advice and we go to see the Super.

We walk upstairs to the penthouse apartment and I hide off into a corner. Why? I don't know, it seemed like the right thing to do at 8:15 on a Sunday morning. Ivan rings the door bell, waits like a frightened rabbit for a minute, constantly telling me how 'good' the super was and that he is 'a great guy' that comes to people's aid like Superman in a Cape.



He goes on until I hear something at the door. Someone's at the door, I tell  Ivan. He stops yammering. "Really," then frowns. I'm thinking that his caped crusader couldn't find a telephone booth this morning. The door opens and the Super sticks his head out. He sounds like he just woke up. I can't tell shit. I'm hiding in the corner, remember?



Ivan explains the problem and asks for help. The Super says that he'll be right down. Ivan is ecstatic. I follow him downstairs to my crib. Ivan instructs me not to leave, so I settle in to spend the day in my room...ha ha ha! Very hard job for me, huh? I settle in, but the laugh's on me. Everything that I want to do involves the Internet. I'm suddenly down 50% on my efficiency. What the fuck?  Now I have to find something to do with myself, so...I make another book of poetry. Erotic poetry.



Now don't go off and get this all twisted. I have been writing poetry for some time now. Even in 2008-9 I had decided to write a poem every day, regardless of if I wanted to or not. I was up to a poem, a Haiku, a Tanka a day and a sonnet a week. Hmmm, maybe I was hyperactive before, huh? Well so, I have all of these hyper-sexual, Henry Miller-ish poems. Very sexual, very graphic, written to a beautiful red head that I can't get off my mind.



So I MAKE books at Blurb.com and it has allowed me to make a series of poetry books that you can see on the right of my blog page, and now I'm moving over to coffee table book poetry with my own personal photographs.  The first coffee table book that I made was for a poetry friend of mine called NEVER A POSSIBILITY. I have to finish it up for her birthday. The second, this one, is all about and for the red head. But this one is for me. Just me. One copy and then I'm destroying the template. Ha ha ha! So don't ask. Later, years after I'm dead, and it surfaces, you can say that there's only one like it in the entire world. It's valuable and it'll probably sell for millions, but while I was alive, it and I wasn't worth shit.



So I build the template, fill it with my poetry, then fill it again with my photos, typeset it and Voila! Here we are, our own coffee table book. It took me all night long. First I made a small one, and then I decided that it would only be mine, so I made a larger, more expensive one. So I scrapped the first one when it was nearly done, and went and made an even larger one. It's beautiful in my estimation. My best work yet.



Then I felt tired. I didn't have my Internet, so what more could I do?  I crawled my dumb ass into bed. The super never came. Evah. Ivan left for the evening. Once I got that good, old fashioned sleep going there was a knock on my door. It was late. I get up, It's Ivan. "Did the super come?" No chief, your super isn't all that super. "But I told you to go check up on him at 11:30!" No you didn't. "I did."  I love a debate, but I can't stand contradiction. Whatever, he promised to be here and never showed. Sign that check.



"Well what are we going to do?" I think about it. I'll go and get the tools to splice the cut and fix it myself. Ivan nods but does not offer to chip in. "Well, you take care there Hobobob. I'll see you in the morning." Sure. Why? Whatever. I close the door and climb into bed but don't go to sleep. What did I do wrong? Why do I have to pay to have this shit fixed? Fuck it. I'll go a month if it takes to get this fixed. I'm already seven days ahead in my auto blog posting and days ahead in writing the damn thing. When you even read this letter about my being offline, firstly you'll not even notice it and secondly it'll be months later. So....

What the fuck! I can do without the Internet, right?

Right?

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