Hookers or Cake

Where the self-obsessed get serious about silly
I'm too wacky to be hip.

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      ------------------------------------ There was a large painting of Evel Knievel shaking hands with Richard Nixon. It hung in the Mayors office. Late one evening after everyone went home. I took it down to the lab. I zoomed in on Evel’s left eye a 100x and enhanced it. It was an address. I went to the address. It was a modest, 1970’s style, split level ranch home in the suburbs.

      ----------------------------------- Inside I found a dead parrot lying on a waterbed. I revived the parrot with some saltines and adrenaline. We became good friends. The parrots name was Randy. One night a few years later while Randy and me played Gin Rummy, he sang me a song about a fire. The title of this blog was never mentioned but I sensed it, and Randy confirmed it by giving me ‘THE LOOK’.

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          • November 13, 2011 8:51 pm
            I went to the casino again last night. I walked the main floor listening to the cacophony of a million slot machines. They sang out an endless golden chorus of song. Sang in the round Sang until dawn till we all fell dead drunk down or broke on the ground usually it was both. I saw the old man there. He was dressed as a janitor this time. A red jacket, matching tiny hat, and a fabulous mustache. The monkey was perched on his shoulder and still engulfed in flames. Again, no one seemed to notice. I watched the old man as he swept up bits of paper, losing tickets, and popcorn. He started to chuckle as he approached me, smiled slyly and told me the story. “Things don’t happen the way they’re described in books.” he said. “Nope. They never do.” “There was a wounded bird,” he took out a cigarette and lit it off the monkeys outstretched paw, nodded thankfully and puffed. “I don’t know where. It was dusk and the little wounded bird, lay by the trunk of the old tree, in the parking lot behind a factory. The giant cat ghosts came and visited it,” the monkey screeched in concern. “Oh, don’t worry, cat ghosts don’t eat little birds,” whispered the old man to the monkey. “They live on silence and starlight,” his eyes twinkled. So the giant cat ghosts came and beheld the small wounded bird. There was a hot wound of sadness on side of its head the color of red and if you listened real close you could hear the wound singing. It sang of silence and starlight for the giant cat ghosts they devoured the song and then reenacted a scene in the night sky. Do you remember? He nodded towards me and began to sing, “Your silly broken heart got all torn apart, by that girl…” (to be continued)

            I went to the casino again last night. I walked the main floor listening to the cacophony of a million slot machines. They sang out an endless golden chorus of song.

            Sang in the round

            Sang until dawn

            till we all fell dead drunk down

            or broke on the ground

            usually it was both.

            I saw the old man there. He was dressed as a janitor this time. A red jacket, matching tiny hat, and a fabulous mustache. The monkey was perched on his shoulder and still engulfed in flames. Again, no one seemed to notice. I watched the old man as he swept up bits of paper, losing tickets, and popcorn. He started to chuckle as he approached me, smiled slyly and told me the story.

            “Things don’t happen the way they’re described in books.” he said. “Nope. They never do.”

            “There was a wounded bird,” he took out a cigarette and lit it off the monkeys outstretched paw, nodded thankfully and puffed. “I don’t know where. It was dusk and the little wounded bird, lay by the trunk of the old tree, in the parking lot behind a factory. The giant cat ghosts came and visited it,” the monkey screeched in concern. “Oh, don’t worry, cat ghosts don’t eat little birds,” whispered the old man to the monkey. “They live on silence and starlight,” his eyes twinkled.

            So the giant cat ghosts came

            and beheld the small wounded bird.

            There was a hot wound of sadness on side of its head

            the color of red

            and if you listened real close you could hear the wound singing.

            It sang of silence and starlight for the giant cat ghosts

            they devoured the song and then reenacted a scene in the night sky.

            Do you remember?

            He nodded towards me and began to sing,

            “Your silly broken heart

            got all torn apart, by that girl…”

            (to be continued)

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