Too many notes

It’s actually the space between.

I’m going home and I can’t wait.

I’ll bring etchings and wine.

I hear I look like Toby Keith, despite his being a douchbag and all. Huge dipshit.

Whatever.

I need to tell you that I just don’t understand the contemporary image or model of the overly skinny, oftentimes emaciated woman proliferating the visual media. They always look a little skanky to me. I just don’t get the little boy look. Give me hips and ass at least. They always have raccoon eyes and fragile ankles. No hips.

Moving right along.

Yes, I am afraid to die. I’m not done yet. What sane human under seventy five isn’t afraid to die? Show me one that isn’t afraid and I’ll show you one that’s out of his tree.

I once knew a bartender named Diane. She had gorgeous tattoos of dolphins on her arms. A yellowing front tooth in the very front of her head. Rosewater perfume, giant blues eyes and the reddest lips I’ve ever seen. Porcelain skin. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.

We were friends for years. Went on a date. To a movie. Naked Lunch. William S. Burroughs. I moved to kiss her that night and she asked me not to embarrass us both. Damn. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so humiliated. She crushed me. Bittersweet. We somehow grew closer. I became a protector. A role I couldn’t stand but it was the only part in the play.

The Whitehorse on Western just north of the boulevard Sunset. It fell to the ground in the ’94 Northridge quake. Thank Zues.

The first bar in the world to put my etchings on the jukebox. I drank whiskey and beer in those days. Jim Beam and Budweiser. Cognac if the overtime was good. Cockroaches and all. It was a flawless shithole.

The Powerhouse. Highland and Hollywood. Lost my wallet there more than once. I actually had sex on that bar. I’ve since stopped carrying a wallet. The second place to put my records on the juke. Everything I did for awhile. Down By Law to Everclear. I played drums there one night for a band that was without a drummer. I think I did ok. By then I’d switched to gin. We played Wild Thing and Iron Man. I kinda did a solo through the breaks. Only way I knew to keep time.

They locked the doors just before two and let their favorite people keep drinking. I was always one of them.

Not long after, I split the atom. People were impressed. There were parades. I was given a space suit eventhough I had no use for one. Candles and food on my doorstep. Women swooning. Short, overly tanned men tried to lease me cars, suits and jewelry. I eliminated most of them in elevators. These dickheads were orange.

What would you have done?

I had to kill almost all of them. Stabbed them in the neck with a pen or a letter opener. Stupid wide lapels and a too quick familiarity. Ridiculous tans in camel colored suits with absurd ties. Idiots. They thought the neutral colors excused the circus ties. I killed every one of them. Thought they could fool Mother Nature. Oh my.

When you scoop from a jar for your toast, careful and mind what your knife brings to light.

Might be fresh berries, could be caviar, maybe mold, turds and wax.

Hey Jody, sorry about that.

Drinks for my friends.

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