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2:12 p.m. - 2001-10-22
Pumpkin King, or Punk Ass Kid? You Decide.
Janey and I carved pumpkins last night.

This was going to be one of those "okay dear, if you really want to do it I will because I'm sure there are going to be things that I want you to do soon that you may be luke-warm about and besides I pride myself on being the dopest boyfriend ever so I will give in to your request to carve pumpkins" dealies that make a relationship work.

But it ended up turning into another opportunity to examine my fucked up head.

I surfed the wave of Jane's enthusiasm during the preparations for the squash slashing. We went to a pumpkin patch and picked out a couple of prime heads, Jane found a carving kit at Walgreen's with stencils and teeny saws, and then we began the lobotomies.

The stencils looked pretty cool and I, being extremely full of myself, picked out the hardest , most intricate pattern to transfer.

I was starting to enjoy myself and getting into the spirit of the thing when I noticed that there was room on my little gourd canvas to add something to the evil looking wizard that was beginning to take shape at my hand.


What would make the best use of this prime area next to my all knowing magic smith? If he does indeed have the vision to see into the future, what does it hold for me and my neighborhood over which he watches? If I were this imperial warlock, what would I want the entire building to be aware of in the coming days, weeks and years?

Aha! I had it. My work took on a new vigor and increased pace as I delighted with what my imagination had offered me.

Little bits of pumpkin flesh flew away, my eyes strained and my brow furrowed as I deftly removed the material that stood between me and the message that I needed to relay.

After three exhausting hours of diligent work, I had created my masterpiece.

Looking at the finished product, I can now see that there is a distinct possibility that the character inscribed on my Jack'o'lantern my be interpreted differently by different viewers. He is beginning to look a lot more like the classic "Jesus" portrait than a wizard to me. Some may say he resembles Nostradomus, while others might find his likeness more toward the fabled Merlin. But one thing's for sure, whoever he is, he has a strong grasp of the art of prophesy. Be he an oracle, gypsy fortune teller or griot, his words cannot be ignored.

After Jane and myself beheld his insights, I had to go next door to show my neighbors across the stairwell.

I have never before mentioned the fact that two of my oldest friends from high school live in my building, but-they do. Miguel and Curtis, two of my boys. We've been through a lot together. Miguel was one of the first friends I had in San Francisco way back in 1988. Curtis has been not only my work-out partner and homeboy, but a confidant and key piece of the support structure that has kept ol' heckafresh fighting the good fight year after year. I felt it was imperative that they be among the first to see what dark vision the punkin god had beheld for us and ours.

You're next Diaryland. Peep.


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