Travel used to be easy...

I spent much of today working out a plan for possibly flying to the UK, specifically to go to Oxford and Belfast, and not only is it not cheap, it's not easy. Airlines' schedules are not meant for humanity. Rental cars are like gold, even if you get a stick. Ferries are inconvenient. Hotels are double the price because it's tourist season. It's damn near impossible.

I finally settled on a complete circle of a plan--fly into London, do Oxford, hop over to Belfast then down to Dublin and back home. Airlines do, at least, offer multi-city schedules...that often work out to be cheaper than direct back and forth.

One good thing is, this led Simon to tell me he wants to be a writer...and he's interested in poetry, not narrative. At least, I don't think he wants to do narrative fiction. But the poetry he does is very brutal and...well, it's pretty much punishment. Revenge. Reimagining his life in a way that he's not always a victim but instead a hero for himself.

Some of it was published on some gay threads and ADA Walstead finds out about it. He then makes a vague threat to use it against Simon if he doesn't take a deal. Suggesting that maybe he was planning to hurt Officer Paley in some way. Get him alone and drugged kind of thing.

I'm thinking of using a long form poem I wrote and posted some time ago, as Simon's work. Freddy. It's on the raw side and could be neatened up, a bit. But it fits.

Of course, Walstead's ploy doesn't work. The one real thing Simon has going for him is he's too old to give a shit, anymore. My name is on that work. That should tell you something. Rather like me and my gay erotica. I refuse to hide it as if I'm ashamed of it. That always comes back to bite you in the ass.

But it might be interesting to make up some more poems like that, for him...