W O O L S E Y W O O D

You’ve never seen shine like mine.

I’m wearing a $2,500 camel pea coat and a $900 grey long knit sweater. Kanye himself sent me my shoes. My jeans have holes in the knees made by supermodels tearing them with their teeth. I bathe in water shipped from Iceland. Even Mother Mary didn’t have skin this immaculate.

I’m one of a kind and a God among men.

The music I listen to is made by famous musicians just for me. My cat has his own agent and fan club. I’m the guy who first gave Popeye spinach. When my parents took a sonogram of me I was giving the thumbs-up.

There are plaster molds of my genitalia in Hong Kong gift shops.

The Pope waves when I drive by. I’m not from Los Angeles. I’m not from America. Every step I take is its own country. Women have tattoos of my face on their breasts. I’m 13 feet tall and made of oak. People are afraid to say my name when I’m in the room. I teach waves how to break. I’m the man whose hand you’re afraid to shake.

There is a sign in the hills that says:

W O O L S E Y W O O D

I have a leather hangar for my leather belts. A sealed room for all the keys to all the cities I’ve ever been to. I don’t eat vegetables. I’m a raw beta carotene masterpiece. I tell the sun when to come out.

There is a special set of stars reserved just for me. A constellation with my name on it. When I die they’re going to send my corpse into orbit so everybody can look toward heaven and remember me for eternity.

Late at night I swim in an indoor pool the size of a football field. Tropical rainbow fish swim in the walls. I sleep in 3,000 thread count sheets. Each year in New Zealand there is festival to choose the lucky sheep whose fleece will become my wool blanket. There is a shrine of me in Papua New Guinea.

When I walk down the street, people part like I’m Moses in the Red Sea. Flowers scribe poetry to my beauty. I am the sparrow king. The wind is afraid to touch my hair.

I’m so big I push everybody else off the planet.

My bed is the size of a parking lot. I can roll over and travel thirty feet. I moan softly and the room echoes, sending it back to me. In the dark, it’s the only voice I hear. The papers say it’s softly gilded and mellifluous. To me it’s like grit in my ears. My thoughts are like a broken video game. Mona Lisa smirks at me. Gold bracelets chafe my wrists. My loneliness is exquisite.

My tears are liquid diamonds.

You’ve never seen black clouds like mine.

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