arthur b's Journal

11:22am: I'm still recovering from last week's trip with Stephen - as soon as I left the city, I started feeling ill and I'm afraid this made me rather poor company. We started bickering, and I felt like he was hounding me, talking about rather strange things (paranoid ranting: There are these guys following you, dude! You've joined a cult, dude! They're following you!, talking about me talking in my sleep - which I know I don't do) when I really wasn't in the mood.

So, Stephen, if you're reading this, no hard feelings. Really. My head feels much better now that I'm back home. And - gasp - IIiiiii-eee-iiiiii willl allllwaaaaaayuuuzz luhuhuve eyooooooooooooouuuuu!!!

Really. Next trip better. And I'll pack the ibuprofen.

12:13pm: WAKE UP, BIX!
Watching a documentary about Jazz last night, got all emotional over the story of Bix Beiderbeck.
All his life looking for approval of his father, who wanted him to study and perform classical music. All his life segregated from the black artists that were creating jazz music, forced to play with uninspired white ensembles. Slowly descending into madness...
"He was our golden boy, doomed to an untimely end."

"There were elusive bars that only Bix could hear".

All of a sudden, I know what it means.

12:45pm: I'm really less inspired than ever to actually work with these new ugly walls. And I see that my week off has done nothing to improve the smell.

Come back, Old Man, and fix things. Come back!

Instead of working, I read the following:

Indians blame mystery attacks on UFOs



SHANWA, India -- Panic-stricken Indian villagers are blaming UFOs for a spate of attacks that have killed several people and injured many others in Uttar Pradesh state.

Villagers in this poor region say as night falls, a flying sphere, emitting red and blue lights, hones in on their homes. In the past week seven people have died of unexplained injuries, while many others have been burnt.

Ramji Pal, was one such fatality, dying recently in Shanwa. His neighbor, Raghuraj Pal told The Associated Press that "a mysterious flying object attacked him in the night."

"His stomach was ripped open. He died two days later."

Many others have suffered scratches and surface wounds, which they say were inflicted while they slept. In the village of Darra, 53-year-old Kalawati told AP she was attacked last week and displayed blisters on her blackened forearms.

"It was like a big soccer ball with sparkling lights," said Kalawati, who uses only one name. "It burned my skin."


There's a lot more at the link. Creepy, huh?

2:55pm: I work behind a dark heavy, big-ass mahogany desk. There is a lampshade on my right and a notebook on my left. In front of me, a checklist with titles of books I was cross-referencing for the Old Man.
The walls are lined with hundreds of old books (the rarest are kept locked in vault). There's a door to my right, which I leave half-opened so I can see if someone's (i.e. my boss) entering from the street (there's a corridor there that leads to his office, on the back). And I swear by God I saw someone in the corridor, and I didn't hear the door opening. I am really nervous. Just checked, and confirmed that I'm alone. No one in the corridor, my boss's door is still locked. I swear I saw someone *scurrying* past my door. *A big, tall, someone*, by the way. I think I should call someone. What if someone tries to rob something from the safe? Perhaps I should check again.

3:08pm: Ok, there's no one here. I'm nervous. When I get nervous I repeat myself. Just count how many "someones" are there in the last post.
I wanna go home.