Sin is Kibble for our Pet Remorse

            On Thursday it was extremely hot in the apartment because the hat was on. I did yoga in my underwear and song practice barefoot.

I finished memorizing “L’amour en privé” by Serge Gainsbourg and started looking for the chords. I don't think this was a big hit for Francoise Hardy and so I probably won't find that anyone has posted them.

            Because I have three assignment deadlines next week I need to put my floor cleaning project on hold. I had an extra hour because of that to work on my translation of "Au lecteur" by Charles Baudelaire.

            I heated some lentil soup for lunch and continued working.

            I took a siesta in the early afternoon and then worked for another hour.

I did some exercises while listening to Amos and Andy. In this story Andy receives word that his nephew is sending him a case of bouillon from where he is stationed in Europe but Andy thinks it’s bullion. He’d read in the paper that US troops had found gold hidden in a German salt mine and so he thinks that his nephew got hold of some. Andy thinks he's going to be rich. There’s a nonsense argument between Shorty and Gabby about the meaning of inflation. When Andy gets the case and realizes it’s full of soup he wants to notify the government because he thinks they must have made the same mistake in Germany and found a salt mine full of soup.

            I can’t sacrifice the time to take any long bike rides right now but I did ride to Freshco. I bought, five bags of grapes, a value pack of pork chops, a loaf of Cinnabon bread, a bag of Old Dutch chips, a box of spoon size shredded wheat and two cans of peach halves. I did a No Frills price match on the grapes and got them for half price.

            I worked a little more on my translation and then had a potato, my last two drumsticks and some gravy for dinner while watching Dead or Alive, starring Steve McQueen.

            In this story Josh is called to a town where a sheriff friend of his named Bedloe is holed up in a hotel room with a prisoner named Justin. Justin needs to stand trial for a murder but he says he had an accomplice named Jenks who is in a nearby town. Bedloe needs Josh to go and bring Jenks in. He goes because he owes Bedloe a favour. The town of Bent Fork is lawless and the populace is on Jenks’s side and so Josh has to knock Jenks out and get him out of town fast. On the trail Jenks claims to be innocent but does not think he will get a fair trial. He tries to escape and falls to his death from a cliff. When Josh brings his body in Bedloe says he found out just after Josh left that Jenks was innocent.

            I worked one more hour on my translation and by the end of the day I'd translated eight out of the ten verses of "Au lecteur":

Dear Reader

Stupidity, folly, stinginess and sin

Weigh down our bodies and occupy our brains

We use them to feed our amenable shame

the way that beggars nourish their own vermin

Our sins are pig headed, our repentance has no spine

When we confess we charge ourselves a handsome tax

And then we step gaily back on our muddy path

Believing vulgar tears will launder all the grime

There on evil’s pillow is Satan Trismegistus

Who lulls our dull minds with enchantment every hour

And the rich metal ore of our willpower

Is transformed to vapour by this wise alchemist

The Devil’s the one pulling on the strings that jerk us

to repulsive objects we perceive as sweet charms

Each day we step closer down to infernal harm

Without horror we traverse the stinking darkness

Like a down and out debaucher who’ll suck and gorge on

The martyred breast of an antiquated whore

We steal a quick handful of underground pleasure

As we fondle skin as tough as an old orange

Tightly pullulating like a million helminths

Inside our brains a horde of demons has its fun

And on each breath that comes, Death slithers in our lungs

And with our lame complaints down the phantom stream sails in

If the will to poison, burn buildings, stab and rape

Has yet to become stitched with the embroidery

On the banal canvas of our pitied destiny

It’s because our souls, alas, are just a tad afraid

But here among the jackals, the panthers, the bitches,

The monkeys, the snakes, the scorpions, the vultures

All the yelping, howling, growling, creeping monsters

In the ill-famed menagerie of our debauches