|science and philosophy alternatve medicine history and misc.|
|poetry gallery lies my father told me pipedreams blog|
Yesterday I walked into the Future. Thatís the Future Cafť. Iíd a spare hour in the morning before going to "observe" with Dr. Panocci. Iím going to work for Panocci, do chiropractic for him for forty percent of the take until I can make my eclectic practice thrive - till I can pay my bills. But first I had an hour spare, between my breakfast "networking group" and Levinstein, to read the paper and drink some Earl Grey tea: my heroin. At the coffee counter I stood next to John Whatís His Name.
"The Government turned down my appeal. Every time I get sick, Iím back out on the street. This is the third time. I phoned the Community Legal Centre, asked them if thereís anything I can do about it. "Get a good blanket, a warm blanket," they told me. If I get back on my feet Iím going to fuck every one. Fuck them all. No more Mister Nice Guy."
Just a few years back John (Whatís His Name) was making a film on spirituality. Interviewing people about the divine in their lives. Oh, how the heavenly fall.
"Why donít you come by and see me? I have a walk-in clinic by donation on WednesdaysÖ this afternoon, from three to four."
"Oh, Rupert gave me the name of his chiropractor just down the road. 714 Main."
"Paul Panocci?" I ask.
Jai shrugs. "Iíve made an appointment. Iíll come and see you if it doesnít work out."
Panocciís office has an air of Calcutta about it. Paul is spending as much time as he can working at a local Insurance Assessment Clinic - big bucks, and Iím going to stand in for him and do the "nerve activation", the "spinal settings", for forty percent of a small take.
Now I join him at his table. How do we get to talking literature? He is talking about Huxley and Somerset Maughan. I should read Maughanís "The Narrow Corner". Ren speaks about the animosity between Huxley and Maughan. "They were part of the Bloomsbury set," I say, with a question in my voice, and I start to ramble through the little I donít quite know. I make mention of D.H. Lawrence as my favourite of that era.
"He was a friend of Huxleyís," says Ren. "The Sonnets, though, are my favourite."
"The Masterís sonnets?" I ask. Ren smiles his shy smile. I look at my watch. Itís time for me to go watch Levinstein.