The Tocharian

There was fresh salmon on salad at the canteen today and it was good, lemon wedges squeezed all over it was a nice treat and I ate stale French fries and excellent pilau with it.  S.D. insisted on buying me a mango smoothie which I gladly accepted after they said there were no pomegranates, peaches and chocolate. 

I took two Xanax last night and I woke up at eight thirty in the morning pretty good.  A week ago at the same time I was reading John Keane’s ‘The Field’ in the bumpy back of my transport while navigating through a smoldering and pensive city and omigod, them Irish are a fierce people aren’t they  if we’re talking land.  I loved reading it and am wondering whether to pass this one on or keep it with me a little longer.  It’s a funny read and the ending is not nice at all.  I was really expecting a different end, you think?  There’s so little I know. 

I was told to read this after I had my time in Cornamona in January of 16 years ago,  when I stayed for 14 days or so in the house of Margaret Walsh, the woman who was still alive at that time, in a nursing home in Loughrea when Sadie Coyne took me there to visit her.  It was a cold stone home between the Coynes and the Sullivans and a yard in the back big enough to play lawn tennis or feed a few sheep.  

So, now that I’ve finally read it, would these people have killed each other to get a piece of land?  No, I don't think so, but who knows, I do remember Sean Sullivan and his broken glasses, called me a CIA spy, dragged me out of the house on my last night there in a fierce horizontal storm at two in the morning so I could say goodbye to his mother and i did, dripping over her and wishing her Godspeed;  he showed  me how to make an irish cocktail and he fixed light sockets or mended space heaters and told me of his hatred for the woman on the other side of the house, May God give him Rest.  Is Sadie Coyne and her seven children without a husband to be seen still there?  Other people recalled now:  Sara Sullivan of course, singing in the Gaelic during a christening at Macs Bar, Aunt Eileen’s cousins, and brother Padraig, and then there was an evening in Spiddall with a wealthy fella from Texas, that’s all I remember.

It would be good to return there now.

In one of the most outlandish incidents being in sync with the Tocharian, I am a little embarrassed to write it here,  but I contacted my Aunt and  Uncle and said I’d buy the house and offered $60,000, I said it was on sacred ground I remember ranting, I remember that because I had a way, a crazy plan to make the $60,000 by selling my full poster printed photos signed by the Tocharian named Job. 

And I drove the signed prints over to Peter the antique collector at the Rugby club and left them with a Sudanese fella who I gave a list with the names and price tag Dh26,999 for each.  Ha ha.  Dumb shit. 

Would it better if I just went with the Tocharian from now on because the name Job, I still, ha ha, it just hasn’t been proven.   

you want to be Job, be Job, if you want to be Paul McCartney, I don’t care, but I need a title to keep it true as far as I know.  Right?

The Tocharian

And from what I have read on the Tocharians this week they are mostly from eastern and northern Europe but not as far as Ireland.  Laddy.  It does give me pause.

“Take two two hours before you know where you’re gonna be comfortably comfortable.”

An exodus of staff at the university begins this weekend, my reptilian islander is leaving on Saturday, the graduation is on Friday, and then slowly the acronym whom I have worked for instead will slowly disappear one after another. 

The AUAF campus is accessible to people who pay the fees to be a student and the ones who don’t care about going to class say it’s a great place to hang out.  Like a club, right?  I asked this to a colleague at a designated smoking place, and I would have to agree if I were an Afghan anywhere in this country this is as safe as they come so far.   When I leave the building after seven an atmosphere of ease is present. 

There’s nothing wrong with an atmosphere of ease anywhere, well there’s one here and it helps those who are fortunate to get a break and get out of here.  Right?

I’d like to walk in Babur’s Gardens in the early pre or around sunrise morning before I leave.  I wonder how safe it is at that time, thieves and hoodlums never sleep when they smell foreigner.

Americans consume more Afghani opium than anyone else in the world.  And they pay big time for it but not to the Afghans.

Afghans for Opium, or at least the profits from it so they can build things they need, like first, a democratically transparent monarchy?