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The answering machine cut
him off today. It’s not as though he had nothing important to say, it’s
just he didn’t say it loud enough. He used to carry the conversation, now
he bears the greater weight of a cumulative fog so densely understated.
First, but not for most, he was a Metaphysical outlaw. His struggle could
prove more meaningful than most success but no one left is really
checking, least of all himself. He has been heard to say he could never
care who’d play him in the movie. All he wants to be is himself. That’s
good enough and more than you should expect. You see people stand for just
about anyone these days except themselves, and like I said, he’s
definitely for the self as long as it’s his and not yours. This it is. So
is that and so am I.
Being born into the
middle-class really isn’t so bad. It’s the sinking feeling that takes some
getting use to. You can be at the right place at the right time and think
it feels all wrong. Every time. Every place. Still, words remain as good
as gold even if they stem from hearts of stone or make their way over tin
tongues. The best songwriter of my generation can’t generate a living. Why
should it be any different? He’ll most likely remain a carpenter. That
seems to be the profession for folks with things to say. Perhaps all the
banging helps calm the fact that no one really wants to listen. Case in
point: you’d never be able to tell by the capacity crowd, but that there
is a vacant room. Paying attention to today is at the top of the list of
things to do tomorrow. With such an agenda, there really is no need to
kill time. It’s killing you just fine. And after all, we’re all dying and
everyone needs something to keep their mind off of it. With this in mind,
let me see your hands. Just as I suspected. The only one there that’s seen
an honest days work is the pointer. Mine is working just fine. I use to
employ the middle finger but vulgarity is such a bore and not much of an
effort. Really nothing to be very proud of. Sex sells. Sex sells. Of
course it does. It has been the driving force behind millions of years of
evolution. Seems sure enough it should be able to sell a candy bar or some
TV commercial time. How about we try something a little less obvious. Let
us use this basic instinct to peddle education. That’ll give hot for
teacher a whole new spin. Eventually, we could collectively become smart
enough to see what a stupid idea this is.
Please excuse me. It was
after all quite occidentally that I slipped, fell and lost my mind. It’s
been known to happen. Turning over soap boxes leaves quite the residue
beneath the feet. Just add a few tears, be they from a statue, a believer
or just plain laughter and you have the makings of a very slippery slope
indeed. Sure, if I was ever asked, I’d like to be part of the chosen few,
as long as everyone else could come along. It’s not a party without
everyone. And everyone is everything. And everything is where it’s at. Are
you where it’s at? Are you everything? Everything you wish you could be?
If I ever get there or high enough to view the big picture, I imagine all
the little frames will seem rather ornamental. Not unlike Elvis in velvet,
in Vegas, in that silly jump suit. You know the one with the high collar.
Now if I could show you
the era of my ways, you ask how it would look? A leather bound exterior
covering a blank book? Yes. Yes, it is true. I’ll admit my favorite
medium to be pencil, but my favorite large remains living and it has in
fact come to my attention that either I’m not very photogenic or far less
attractive than I think I deserve to be. For my age, if you mean moral, is
about two and a half. Speaking chronologically, it’s none of your
business. Here’s a clue to save us some face…Nostalgia ain’t what it use
to be. Then again, neither is my memory. Your number? You can give it to
me. I’ll write it down. I won’t forget or at least this ink on paper
won’t. You know, you never know when you’re gonna run out of ideas when
stepping up to buy that lottery ticket. Luck of the draw. Draw! It’s all a
crap shoot. A lot less like fish in a barrel than fish in the sea. Stay as
you are. Where I want you to be. I’ll take your letters and burn them to
brighten correspondence and if for just a moment get some warmth out of
you.
Though I find myself time
and again standing here at 42nd and Fifth, southeast side, New York is
really no place to have a headache and I haven’t found anywhere
particularly soothing to my soul. Least of all here. I have also been
there. Also to no avail. The rest may very well be silence. Till then, I
can’t see getting any rest with all the noise that persists. Put me out of
my miserable head. Make me increasingly transparent. The consequence of
immortality has been said to be letting someone else speak for you. As
opposed to not speaking at all? I suppose. Can you tell me what the
difference is? Ignorance. Ignorance will always remain a time-honored
tradition and time a petty thief. Time steals every last sense. It rolls
you as it goes rolling by.
Roll over and out time
and again. Toast the town and burn the hours. The band? How was the Bland
you say? As you’d prefer. As I’d expect. As we deserve them to be. The
Greeks had a word for it but it doesn’t translate. Never mind. You won’t
be able to hear it over the guitar player. Any how. Any way. Thou art
splat. Thou art art. Life intimidates art. The life of an artist that is.
But, art will always find a way. Always find it’s way.
Before I let you go, let
me say the Atheists prayer. There, I’ve crossed my fingers. Now let’s
stand here for a moment left with all that is sacred and profoundly
mundane. Oh, god you say? He doesn’t play dice. Just like Einstein wasn’t
much for dancing. He does however have a thing for five card. Can’t you
tell by his face? I’m sure you can’t. See what I mean. As for me? When I
speak to god all I can hear is myself. Maybe I’m him. Seems to me as valid
an answer as any, until that is he tells me otherwise. As for cards, five
card is ok. I fancy a good open hand as long as it’s not against my face.
So, I’ll carry on and
play the one I like best in my big stupor. You know, life, love and other
things that happened on my way through the cinema. For a sunrise can at
times seem like a setting sun to the eye and the fact that I’ve one eye
open at all times doesn’t seem to help the situation. The other eye? I
prefer it shut thank you all the same. You see, well partially, the light
needs the black like the silence needs the sound. And when it all looks
gray I consider the music. For black and white in equal amounts may leave
the field in shades of gray but music in equal parts can’t help but hide
the shades. It’s all there if you know when not to play. Above all else
and beyond question, know when to play and abstain from being defeated.
All of this I’ve learned to say with expletives
deleted.
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