i wish i knew where my eddie house was, and even though i have walked down every ali and went to norton with my friend ken, i remain lost in the wilderness. by george, maybe i should settle down where i am and become a foreman or a taylor like mel. bob is a porter, leonard tells me, and i think it is a feather in his cap that he attained that position. perhaps god is getting even with me, or maybe my loss of memory is a side effect of some long forgotten sin i threw myself into. they tell me all things happen for a reason. if that is the case, why did i dream i was having sex with warren harding and wake up with a woody allen film on at dick's last resort? yes, i have resorted to the dick dialogues yet again, and it is still early in the blog. the blog is not even close to the ensler, and while we may be on the eve of something funny i've stopped loving you, i no diggity no doubt it.
i spoke to ross last night before going to the john. he was happy that alex cora was getting played. ross once had trouble with his auto leskanic,a man by the name of curtis, who would blow ross off, especially when no one was around. silberg often said this "you moss remember this, you are not gay if you're the receiver." i never really caught his point, so perhaps i should pass on the whole conversation and throw them in joe. i could walk down the hall of the school and go to the jim, and make my body hard. granted, it costs green to join a gym, a hendrix dollars a month at the jim in my neighborhood. and who wants to walk on a treadmill? doesn't anyone just take a fucking walk anymore? no, every one has their own car which they take to lynn to see george carlin for 40 bucks a head as long as they bring their own condom. pryor to that, they will go to poor richard's and have a few beers after a long day at the office.
ahh, what's the match point? i feel trapped in a penn, a prison of my own mind, a jail not of my own choosing. is there hope? yeseree bob! but i don't feel that way sometimes. sometimes i feel a heavy weight on my back to back with bucking broncos, and the elway to peace seems 4th and long. perhaps you can not brooks this blog anymore, and are waiting for a movie on my part to grow silent. but i am saddled with guilt that i have not gone out with a blaze of glory and in the history of the world, i feel my self to be a footnote, and this gives me high anxiety. perhaps if i could reinvent myself as a hustler, i would feel like a newman and my hard times would end and i would find happiness straight ahead. but it would probably just give me a fat head, if you can follow the tenor of what i'm saying.
silberg is not as hopeless as the chairman, although he was despondent after viewing the lawrence welk marathon in its entirety. silberg argues that there are many things that make life worth living, including jackie wilson's 1967 cover of don gardner and dee dee ford's "i need your lovin," "nights of cabiria," a perfectly formed female rear end, "human resources," "red garland's piano," "out there" lem winchester's "with feeling" nat cole's "after midnight," tixon, pinko and his mate artest, silberg's folks who live on the virgil hill, sammy davis's dancing, sinatra's singing on the songs for swingin lovers album, free food, and hearing noam chomsky say mafia incorrectly.
i acknowledge the merits of his points.
but what of war, racism, environmental destruction, colonialism, sexism, rape, the tourist industry, cancer, aids, starvation?
yeah, i guess cyborg is right. when those thoughts come, go to the obligatory parade those of us on the left call a "protest" and turn the stereo on.
start with the eric dolphy - booker little quintet live at the 5 spot, and for a little while, depart from the madness that is america. the great alto man sonny criss once said "that the only thing real in america is ugliness" no, thanks to criss and his fellow musical geniuses, there is also jazz and blues and good film and fine art.
but these are no protection for the iraqi child on the run from the cluster bomb. yeah, i guess ugliness is the only real thing. when sonny gets blue, he comes up with a good quote.
ps, dig his recording of "when sonny gets blue" on the "this is criss" album. it's a bitch of a tune. well, that's all the looney chairman has to say for now. and now, it's back to the farce we call existence
peace
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