A Paragraph In Two Parts
March 2, 2009 in Personal, Rants, The Past
I never wrote Ulysses but I did invent a parlor game for the auto; here’s how it works – get in a cab and proceed down Broadway. At every intersection, observe pedestrians and count the ones that are more attractive than Kate Hudson. Keep track. If you count 25 within 15 minutes, explain to the driver that you are eligible for a discount!
Earlier this weekend I was spanking a woman who is not Emily Gould. Later I lifted Liz Phair from NPR’s live concert series and contemplated the exercise in self Karaoke.
These are not the points.
Years ago I traveled to Prague and Hong Kong. I delighted in the photographic returns and wrote excellent captions. Today I praise the clearness of my lungs and softness of my skin. I am pretty and mean. I will write 25 things and stop at 20.
Once I sent poetry to the girl from Central Park. Another time I claimed to write – this was before the invention of ipod when it was easier to avoid detection.
Often during the early part of this decade I dressed smartly. I hired underlings and they scrubbed my sink. Every Saturday I got up early – a habit I keep – and submitted myself for detailing.
There is no future when I think about the next 30 years.
Sometimes I confuse lyrics.
Back in 2020 when the gentleman is judged, the hymn of record is still Onward Christian Soldier when at last there exists the indie rock version I have always proposed.
Tonight is Sunday Night – the truest evening.
I have time to cry – it happened last week on the concrete prairie outside South Ferry. A boy was selling brownies. He was 6 or 7 and reminded me of me. I never sold anything on the streets of Lexington, Massachusetts. Once at age 5, I wandered from a hotel in Germany. I got lost and city police found me and drove by tourist hotels until I identified our Peugeot Station Wagon. My parents were working the roof rack and unaware I was missing.
I like this story.
Mother was surprised to see German cops drive up with her son. The boy possibly looked like me. He was not mean. A parent may or may not have observed as I transacted two brownies. I can’t tell you his ethnicity. He was trying to please, trying to follow an order, trying to succeed.
His task made me sad.
I do not want children.
I walked into the terminal and cried. I’ve been wanting to cry for many weeks. In South Ferry upstairs from the number 1 train, I cried.
I do not believe in god.
Image via blog.nj.com
