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March 29, 2003 in self defense I have been run to ground by events both worldly and psychic.  I've taken refuge at the Alhambra. It's not that I'm scared; on the contrary, I'm not afraid of anything except, perhaps, the heartbreak of psoriasis.  I feel like I would feel if I were being stalked by missionaries, more dreadful than frightful.  So I stay within my home, within my self, until the siege loses interest in its own existence and goes home. My television sounds drunk.  Through the static and hiccups I hear that our troops are beset by Iraqi irregulars and some group calling themselves the Feta Cheese.  I have long thought the Iraqis were cranky from being tortured, gang-raped, and gassed.  Now I learn they are simply constipated.  I have emailed the Defense Department suggesting a bran drop behind enemy lines.  A regular army is a content army, and a content army is a prissy one. During this siege, I kill time reading or staring out the window.  This morning I saw a large black dog sitting on the jogging path in the park just beyond my back yard.  He stared back at me, neither advancing nor retreating.  This may take longer than I expected.

©  2003 by the beastmaster