Leo 6° (July 28)


Very rough seas and I don’t think my snoring helped S. sleep. She headed into the salon but I felt uncomfortable about that so I just joined her. Two crew members checked on us over a half an hour period, the second suggesting that the downstairs salon is more stable feeling during rough seas. S. headed down and I did a bit of work on the festival. It’s all around four in the morning. I was sending her texts to make sure she was okay and in the end just threw on some clothes and came down and ordered a giant Americano. N., apparently sporting a breathe-right strip and a bathrobe, had been up with the doggie, who was also a bit nervy. It’s now about six and both S., on the sofa opposite me, and doggie, on my same sofa, curled next to me, are blissfully alseep as the violent rocking part of the journey seems to have subsided. Though as I say this we are nearly tipping perpendicular to the desired position in which we should be sailing.

In conversation with my college friend and fellow English department dweller I just realized/ariculated that I have been wanting to come to Greece since becoming obsessed with mythology in the sixth grade. Then it struck me that this “memory” on FB from 2 years ago popped up yesterday and for some reason I felt compelled to share the photo again. This is my sixth grade photo! This is the original myth head who, the summer before seventh grade, made “robes” out of old curtains in the summer house we then rented and did incantations to Dionysus which just so happend to be the cabin we inhabit on this boat we are currently sailing on! I think this happy, happy guy, here, nigh on having his life altered by some abuse of a certain kind that summer before seventh grade (in that next year student photo I look totally different, sad, depressed, like all light has gone out of me), is smiling his toothy grin all the more knowing that he finally got the gift of this trip of his lifetime. The weird thing is: I came clean about this occurance on my first night on the boat to my hostess. Such a weird cosmic full circle thing involving the passage of time which is anything but linear in any case.

We are docked in a place called Castellmare di Stabia about twenty miles south of Naples. I tried to get a little more sleep but to no avail. We got off the boat and into another Mercedes bus driven by this guy who could be a funny hitman from central casting. He was actually quite striking, great physique, bald with a white goatee. Could have been forty-five or sixty-five impossible to tell. I thought it was just me then when we got there S. similarly remarked citing his hands and forearms specifically. He drove us through the little town onto a highway into Naples. There is trash everywhere which says a lot about the mindset of the people. It is even worse here than in Sicily. It is Sunday so the shops are all boarded or gated up. There is graffiti scrawled on every building. I’m feeling emotionally thin. I am digging down to my resources as best I can. We are driven to a sort of Ocean Avenue along the sea and get out of the van as does the driver who is giving us directions. He is wearing no socks with sturday gray nearly jazz-style shoes and suddenly looks more cool and hipster-like with a few bracelets on his right hand and a wedding band on the left. He is smiling at us and now looks like a reformed hit-man who plays in a band and does floral arrangement to relax.

We stroll along the sea which is very rough and still stop to ask directions at another restaurant—we are looking for i Re di Napoli which translates to “the Kings of Napoli” we find it and are seated outside under giant umbrellas. The wind is very strong. We order our drinks and pizza and then there is a huge crashing sound. One of the giant sturdy metal umbrellas that is shading half of the entire outdoor seating has its fabric ripped completely off by the stormy wind; and though it sounded worse than it was, because the wind lifted the giant metal structure into the air before crashing it back down, there really was no panic but the people under the umbrella began to flee as did our entire table which wasn’t under it. I stood there waiting for everyone to return and N. agreed we were in no danger. But too late: Everyone else had had our party relocated to the inner dining room. I tried to smile at what seemed to be a bartender or a shucker of raw things wearing a sort of hat that designated him as such but he just glared at me stoically. People in service industries here seem to all be something else that might involve wacking people and not in the good way.

But we are here for the pizza and everybody gets something different. Margerita, Cappricioso, Diavolo, Marinara, Buffita, I am basically making up words now. Girls are drinking cocktails. S. had wine. I had ordered wine too but switched to Negroni which was listed under “appetizers” and here was (too) heavy on the red vermouth. But the pizza was delicious. I said before the meal that this one was on me. We had a fun time and I had a pistachio cake for dessert and coffee and J. and I each had a Sambuca. I signalled for “il conto per favore” which came and S. took out the card and we waited while E. and C. went for “a vape.” The waiter came back to say the check was already paid. Now, I should be like whatever or thankful but I’m a bit pissed off because I made it clear up front this was my treat and it was determined that’s what I’m doing. Anyway I have to let it go for all the obvious reasons. We meet the driver outside and head to the archaelogical museum. It is very hot. There are remnants of homeless people everywhere in cluding human feces just outside the museum. Naples should be able to do better than this. I saw what I could see. I skipped the erotic room. I basically sat downstairs for most of it and waited. We went for a little walk before meeting at designated time outside but it isn’t a very walkable city where the museum is anyway. So we get back into car and drive the forty five minutes back to the boat. It looks like people are hovering outside and taking pictures. Someone has perhaps tipped them off. We wonder who. Anyway I come back to cabin and get some more work done on the festival and also promote the tee-shirts a bit. I am working on my schedule and already readying to leave in a certain way. Canapes were seared tuna with soy and cucumber. Dinner was delicious sushi. The conversation was interesting about astrology and metaphysics and witchcraft and we are decided we all three will go to the Atlantis book shop together. I have to show J. Damon’s pages and so forth. But I probably won’t get to. The movie we watch all together is called the Other Guys and it is very funny but I am too tired to watch it all and slip away to bed where I am now. Good night.


To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365 or 6 days per year—so they near but not exactly correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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