Ok, sorry about that. Had to yell at
myself for a moment in the mirror. My bad.
What story do you want to hear? … “The New York one!” … Fine. “New York.
The dead girl walking down the street!” … She is not
a girl. She is a woman. She’ll be 22
in two days. I just looked that day up on Wikipedia.
It’s Taylor Momsen’s birthday. … “Pretty Reckless!”
Sure thing. Simmer down now and lay back in your bed.
While I recite the story of a woman, gone with the wind.
She was carrying bacteria and all
sorts of parasites and viruses. Some human.
Others, not so much. Profit-driven misers thinking only
of short-term gain. No matter what they declare,
intend or understand and regardless of their
ideology, just look around at the paralysis, disconnect and denial
between what we know and what we do.
Being able to adapt … being a chamel-
-eon? There is no greater gift in the history of ev-
-olution. It’s called acting. Remember that…
song, “I’m a Pepper, you’re a pepper. Wouldn’t
you like to be a Pepper too?” My dad used
to sing that shit when he’d take me on road trips
in his Road Runner. It was red. It was cool.
He had a Triumph motorcycle, too.
I don’t remember what color it was. Blue?
He wrecked it, back in the 1980s, when
he slid underneath the wheels of a semi.
He walked away from that one, but died when he
flipped a dump trunk and burst into flames. My God.
Wait … what is going on? I hear bells chiming.
I’m back into the swing of things, eleven
and eleven. What would intelligent folks
do if they allowed their imagination
free reign? What would this place look like? Would there still
be buildings in New York, where pretty women
stand, staring up at the face of the moon. A
tiny white dot in a midnight sky. A space station.
Heaven can turn to Hell. Once things begin to
unravel, there is no going back. Just look
at the madness on Venus. Her oceans are
gone. Her surface melts lead. Her clouds are so thick
sunlight never reaches her surface. Her ice
is never slippery, because its been fried
like chicken in Kentucky. Thick, calcium
deposits line the canyon floors and trenches
cut across like backhand scars. A dimming star.
I think she’s great. I think she’s the best singer
I’ve ever heard in my life. She’s wonderful.
Her voice is so strong and natural. She makes
Living look easy, even though it never
is. Not for anyone. We’re all just people.
We’re assholes. The evidence is written in
Tale after tale, from Gilgamesh all the way…
… (Hey. Are you asleep? Are you breathing? Can you
turn lights off and on? If so, it’s real. Too real.)…
… across Earth’s broken record of creation
to modern singer/songwriters who “Don’t care.”
Some folks get no respect. Most folks have none to give.
Remember when Courtney read Kurt’s suicide
note? Did she not know what empathy meant? Hey-
Oh well. Whatever. Nevermind. To Hell with
her, right? El-oh-el. Yeah … right. Ok, buddy.
How much is 38 times 38? Who
knows? I don’t have a calculator and I
do not care. Fuck math. Fuck it right in the … eye.
Pi? That’s 3.145… something like that.
My squire wears it proudly, because “Fuck math.”
I’d rather play guitar. Ever hear R.L.
Johnson? No? If not, I’d suggest you listen.
You won’t like it at first. It’s like coffee. Or
beer. There is no autotune. There are no drums.
It brings you down into a man’s personal
view of Hell and his chances of getting out.
Ha! No, really. There is a reason Jesus
walks. Here’s the difference between the son of
God and the guy from Chicago who’s such an
avid eater of fish dicks and Hobbit ass.
I mean, seriously fellas … is he a
gay fish, or what? I don’t know. I don’t know him.
I wouldn’t care if he’d just shut the fuck up.
But then again, I guess he feels like he has
something to say … and time is running out. We’re
at moment zero, I think. This is the last…