What if Hitler was just trying to be Charlie Chaplin with a thinner mustache? Or Charlie Chaplin snuck away to Europe and was actually Hitler?
The rain falls on the sidewalk and pools into little puddles of insects, cigarette butts, and hamburger wrappers — it makes me think the world might be washed away over night while I’m sleeping and dreaming of another life, one much softer and gentler. Have you seen the way light plays on Faberge eggs? The way the shell doesn’t reveal the insides, but you and I both know it’s only yolk there, makes me think that behind every Rembrandt is something a kindergartener painted.
I met a bathroom attendant tonight who knew the breed of the bird on my sweater. He was singing along to a Tina Turner song, one she sang while Ike was raising hell in the other room. I ate a mint and we talked about the music. He told me the bird was a thrush. His voice was soft like velvet.
Some words make me cringe…
We judge each other by our jobs, the clothes on our backs, the curl of our lips when we throw epithets at each other. Fuck you. Well, fuck you too! We hold hands and knives and bottles of booze. We hold each others hands like pinless grenades.
Is there an eternally cool side of the pillow? If you keep flipping it over forever, will you evade the heat permanently?
I love every one of my friends. I love you. I love the blond waitress at the local bar — although she never brings me the correct change. I love my enemies, especially because I don’t really have any… hate is not a word I deal with. It’s like receiving a 6 in blackjack: nothing good comes from it.
It’s 3:29 in the morning. Rain is plopping on the window pane. Like tiny, soft gunshots. Do you like the taste of blood? How about green tea? Some people like the smell of gasoline, some people gag from it…
People say life is short, but it seems fucking long to me! However, 24 hours are not enough hours to the day. 10.5 gallons is not enough gas in my tank. Somebody threw a bottle at my windshield and cracked it the other day. Just my luck. My shitty Karma, I guess.
One life is not enough for all I want to do. Write 16 novels. Fall in love 32 times. Write 64 songs about how life is not long enough for all I want to do. I guess I have to live 8 lives to get all my living done.
I’d have to live on the periphery of science to fulfill my dream’s ambitions.
Love and music is nothing but mathematics.
Do you ever wonder what becomes of your fingernail shards once you clip them? How long until they disappear? I clipped mine and two shards landed three feet away, in almost the same location.
I wonder what the world record is for longest fingernail shard flight… there should be an international tournament to see which country’s citizens can clip their fingernails the furthest. I have a feeling India would win the gold. Fingernail cutting and spelling bees are their strengths.
Do you ever sit cross-legged so long that your legs fall asleep and you practically fall back down when you stand up? Or stand up too fast and get light-headed and almost pass out? It’s like meeting God and having nothing to say. I once fainted on a crowded train in Boston, came to with a crowd of strangers staring down at me. It was frightening and embarrassing but at least I got a seat after that.
I met a girl last night with lips like caviar. The band was playing loudly and passionately. We shouted into each others ears to be heard. I got there early because I’m friends with the guitarist. The place was empty and I ate Fish N’ Chips. When I left it was so crowded I believe I consummated a few relationships on the way out.
“Love…” she told me with a shrug, “kinda makes me cringe.”
“I don’t know, I’m kinda craving the cringe,” I replied.
Is the moon your friend? Does it affect you at all?
Do you sing in the morning, my little thrush?