|
|
The Tough Talk - 6.3 |
Comments:
Maria carrara piazza bolzano verona rimini fettucini portofino luca brazzi fratangelo.
Comments:
Johnny Dollar flashin' a big wad, but he got nothin' in the
bank.
Comments:
Holistic poontang got it all over holistic ginseng.
Comments:
Lana Turner looking at her criminal boyfriend and in
a skin jacket. In some hide jacket.
Comments:
The greatest bottled drink is SoBe Jing tangerine green tea in the deep-green bottle.
Comments:
This Johnny Shag says small potatoes.
Comments:
Look, Film Noir Johnny, I'm dancing and you're some one-armed small potatoes gangster.
Comments:
I just got in. I'm in my office upstairs, and I can hear "The Harlem Shuffle" playing on the jukebox downstairs. Five
hours ago I took a hit in the right arm from an Arab down on South Street, on the docks, and then I killed him with one perfect shot. His name was Hassan Habib Salah, and he is now eating lamb in paradise. Bobby Three-Heads and I got the speedboat and hauled his dead Mustafa Al-Sharif body
out into the middle of the East River where it took the slow drop. Then I called my doctor and told him to meet us at his office, so he drove in from Westport. He took the slug out, a hollow-point .45 that mushroomed, and when the job was over he said I'd never have full use of it again. Look, this shag music is for sharp haircuts wearing madras and Weejuns at the beach party. You can't shag to "The Harlem Shuffle." And every one of these Johnnys can eat it, except maybe Johnny Indigo.
Comments:
If you meet an attractive man, you flirt with him in your own way, in your own style. It's only natural, and if you don't already know his story, you get it from him. Sometimes, if he projects the right energies, you don't even care what his story is. It comes naturally. It could happen anywhere. My way is a cautious flirtation and most of them respond to it. Sometimes, e. g. if he is married, I do it only through posture, never with my eyes, never with words, and hardly anything ever in tone of voice. After that, one thing leads to another over time. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes nothing happens. I'm not calculating about it. Things happen, things don't happen. It's the way things work.
Comments:
Got blue-root magic, black-root spells, red-root cures.
Comments:
Double-shot dancing at Fat Harold's on Ocean Drive last
night. Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs are #9 on the all-time Top 40 shag hit list.
Comments:
Do these Johnnys have jobs, or do they just cruise up and down the coast like dolphins?
Comments:
THE PELICAN INN, PAWLEY'S ISLAND, SC. 79 degrees. Lotsa hammocks, dunes, sea oats, dolphins cruising north to south, pelicans, and marshes around here. Shag music on the radio.
Comments:
PORT ROYAL/BEAUFORT. 81 degrees. Deepest harbor in the Confederate States of America, but used as a beachhead resort by Union troops for most of the war. Strong current in the wide sound beside me and lights circling the bay. One night here on the water and then a slow drive up the coast, say a week, with some stops along the way.
Comments:
COMBAHEE LANDING AND MARINA. 80 degrees. Fucka buncha Georgia. I'm staying around here. Those Georgia islands all been bought up by developers who build golf courses and gated communities for loaves of white in SUVs who got cell phones pressed to their ears.
Comments:
If I don't love you baby, grits ain't groceries, eggs ain't poultries, and Mona Lisa was a man.
Comments:
HOLLYWOOD, SOUTH CAROLINA. 83 degrees. Got the shades on, got the suntan, lookin' good here in this Hollywood. They still grow indigo down heah, this shrubby 5-foot legume with bean-pods that cluster like bananas and darken in October. It's ready for picking now, and then it goes into the indigo vat.
Comments:
HUNTING ISLAND. 84 degrees. In the daytime a long beach with the stumps of palmettos and slash pines all over the beach, huge piles of driftwood, logs, and entire trees along the shoreline. At night the tent where raccoons rule from 8 p.m. until 4 a.m. and where I've heard foxes barking. And last night a fox fight between two males woke me up at 2:00, twenty feet away. Gray foxes. They're nocturnal and have eyes with vertical slits, and when you catch them in the flashlight they glow electric blue. Tonight and tomorrow night at a motel 15 minutes away for some creature comforts. Maybe Cumberland Island and the Okefenokee swamp next week. Maybe not.
Comments:
ST. HELENA / HUNTING ISLAND. 82 degrees. Red rice, red peas, potato pie, gullah bowl, peach cider, hot boiled peanuts.
The shark feels like sandpaper when it brushes against you, but if the first thing you feel is a nip or a bite it's probably a barracuda. Maybe just a bluefish.
Comments:
EDISTO. 79 degrees. Sunburn and lotions. Straw hat. The sparkling Atlantic. Bright light and leafy glades. Herons, high-diving osprey, river otter, avocets, mink, muskrats, but
no alligators yet.
Comments:
Cold snap.
Comments:
Leaving today for the Sea Islands of South Carolina and Georgia with a tent, spear, hunting knife, hatchet, and rope -- all you need for Low Country hurricanes and alligators. Be there until the 28th or so, then a slow drive up the coast. Mostly incommunicado except for e-mail.
Comments:
Some gang in suits ought to come bursting through the doors of Film Noir Johnny's with tommy guns blazing, they should shoot anybody who stands up and send all the glass flying, then they should burn the place down.
Comments:
Pasta prosciutto benini fellini marcello alfredo bella
dolce gorgonzola luciano milano.
Commments:
Technology and drugs have become the path of avoidance.
Comments:
Oh these hours in the mornings and afternoons when the sun is bright and it is clear and blue and cool and fresh. Early fall in the East, as the chlorophyll fades away and the leaves begin their turnings.
Comments:
(Got me so confused it's a) Shame. Mama just don't understand.
Comments:
Somebody get Secret Addiction to shut up.
Comments:
Sometimes I loathe myself and am overcome with guilt and
shame, but the longer you do it the easier it becomes.
Comments:
She found herself sitting there.
Comments:
Late in the afternoon, near dark, I found myself sitting in a coffeehouse on the West Side, at a table across from a
blonde. She was reading a magazine article very intently and stretching in her seat as she read. Sometimes she would
slowly, absently, twirl her hair, which she hadn't washed today. The place is nearly empty, it's Sunday evening, and it's getting dark outside. Both of us were wearing light jackets and thin pullover tops. After I caught her eye, we began performing for each other in small ways at our tables. It went on for an hour or more, and it was so exciting I know she ended up just like I did.
Comments:
Deep Forest Man is a signifyin' monkey. He'd run from a bear, and climb a tree too.
Comments:
Look, stop sending the e-mails and inquiries and insults about not being able to send it in to Johnny's. And stop calling and sending letters and postcards. The whole world is open except for a few atomic pulse-pockets in the eastern United States. The global system is 98.4% fired and stronger than it's ever been. All you dimwits have to do is page-up and hit "Do Some Tough Talking Yourself." I'm hearing from some 3-D morons.
Comments:
Comments:
I put them in stripes, paint the cellblock pink, and interview them on my show. Hottest law-enforcement vehicle in North Carolina. Corvette engine.
Comments:
What about the two male Solid Gold Dancers?
Comments:
What do you do if the bear won't go away, if it just hangs around for hours and hours? Should you try to outwait the bear, or should you be pro-active?
Comments:
Look, Rico, Alison and I get along fine. What a jerk!
Comments:
We got another on-the-spot reporter and weather commentator? Your nessun dorma. This place got too many on-the-spot reporters, and this one named Alison should slip back into the arms of Butchwoman the Top.
Comments:
This is the sweetest night. 73 degrees and perfect. 73% humidity. Huge half moon and clouds of all shades on the noir spectrum from bright white to black. The windows of an apartment across the common are open, and a woman is singing
"Nessun Dorma" wildly.
Comments:
Johnny's story stopped at the end of March, and this Tough Talk has become aimless palaver -- sophomoric, misogynistic, esoteric, and random.
Comments:
Today I met the boy I'm gonna marry.
Comments:
You can't outrun a bear, no one can, so in a surprise encounter you have to stand your ground. If you run or if you try to climb a tree, you are only encouraging the bear. The charging bear decides what to do by what you do, and he may dodge away at the last moment or even stop if you stand there and slowly stretch your arms out to the right and left, as if you're ready to hug him. Give the bear something big to look at and consider. At night, though, if a bear searches out your campsite, then you are prey to the bear and your only choice is to fight back. Get a shovel or a big club, take the fighting posture, and let the bear know you are ready to fight to the death. Play dead only if the bear makes contact and only as a last resort.
Comments:
I can't get any work done today. I haven't done a thing since
I came in at 9:00. All I can do is re-runs in my head. En
route to the subway on Friday afternoon I slipped into a
small bookstore for a health magazine. A cruel-looking man in non-fiction, actually ugly by most standards, kept looking at me and I got the feeling. He projected power, and I'm attracted to it. I like to attach myself to a powerful thing, and I also like to be the student, to get the lessons. I pretended to ignore him, but I was looking at him as I pretended. And I had a date at 7:30 with a sweet man who I guess is my fiance, but one thing led to another. Sometimes that's the way it happens. It's fate. Things happen.
Comments:
I say that the average American 9th-grader is the greatest creation of Western civilization. Greater than Renaissance Men.
Comments:
So what is Bone Travail, some junior high school boy in the computer lab?
Comments:
All day long I hear my telephone ring, friends callin' givin' their advice. I listened once to my friends' advice, but it's not gonna happen twice. And Flo, she don't know, 'cause the boy she loves is a Romeo.
Comments:
Sometimes it's work.
Comments:
Dancing in the joints of
Djibouti.
Comments:
In dreams we do not find answers which our conscious mind is capable of supplying, but we do find dramatizations of questions which our conscious mind is incompetent to deal with.
Comments:
You wearin a fez hat? You the chump, Cassius Clay. And when you miss with a right, then you bulnavul to my fast left
hook. Fighter gotta be swelterin' when he step into the ring.
Comments:
You can believe what the lips have to say.
Comments:
Summer night. Very humid and sweaty. The lights streak the water and we were just dancing to "Addicted To Love." He ranks things and makes sweeping declarations, and he says this song is among the top five white dance songs of all time.
Comments:
I don't think so. Her eyes are different. The only similarity is in the posture. Your eye for expression is off.
Comments:
Marlene Dietrich looks like Tamara Lempicka's self portrait.
Comments:
I hear
this poem in my sleep. "Float thy vague veil about me . . . "
Comments:
You're mean-spirited and jealous and judgmental.
Comments:
You look rather common, Amanda Peek. So many of you X/Y girls look and talk alike it's hard to tell you apart. I mean like actually whatever . . . ummm like actually. A friend of mine says your movie is about four loaves of white and a slut, and that the script/story is at the mid-teen level.
Comments:
Whipped.
Comments:
I heard Roxanne was a Solid Gold Dancer.
Comments:
What's it gonna be, the Night Train or the Soul Train? You can only ride one train at a time.
Comments:
I am the greatest of all time! Sonny Liston is uglier than a gorilla. He's a chump. I'll make a chain-monkey outta
Sonny Liston.
I'm a magician and I'm gonna turn
Sonny Liston into a little monkey you can walk around on a chain. I'm pretty. Look at this face. Your hands can't hit what your eyes can't see. Larrah Hones looks like a peanut. Look at him and then look at me!
Comments:
Come on over baby, whole lotta shakin goin on.
Comments:
When you're rockin anuh rollin, can't hear your mama call.
Comments:
Many people comin from miles around to hear you play your music when the sun go down.
They're really rockin in Boston, and Pittsburgh PA, deep in the heart of Texas, and round the Frisco Bay, all over St. Louie, and down in New Orleans . . . cause they'll be rockin on Bandstand, Philadelphia PA, deep in the heart of Texas, way out in Frisco Bay.
Comments:
Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do. Well my mom and papa
told me son you gotta make some money . . . if you wanta use the car to go a-ridin' next Sunday.
Comments:
You're a jiveass smooth talker, Don Cornelius. You think
we're fools? Everybody knows the diff between the Solid Gold Dancers and the Soul Train dancers. Maybe you remember me.
Comments:
Mr. Ultra-Cool, sayin' . . . Peace . . . Love . . . and Soooooouulll . . . My voice got it all over Barry White
and James Earl Jones. Blowin' a kiss to you and to The Soul Train Dancers.
Comments:
Who cares if it "goes anywhere"? Who cares about "the next level"? What do these people expect to find there?
Something better than what they have? I'm
on the night train. The express.
Comments:
The bedroom with the air-conditioner in the window. The strong electric hum, on bright afternoons when it is stifling outside and the light is bright around the shades. And at night, to walk into the refrigerator hum and sleep under sheets and blankets. Using it even on nights when the temperature is low but the humidity is high.
Comments:
The celestial vapors. These Cambodian women are like cats, and I can hear small arms fire through the trees. Roadblocks and checkpoints on the muddy trails. I must load the AK-47, stuff the rest of the clips into my vest pockets, and make my getaway tonight, in the rain, the Somerset Maugham jungle rain. Yen-Tsiang.
Comments:
I'm here with Rocket 88.
Comments:
Memphis. Peabody Hotel, two blocks from Beale Street. Came up early to the rooftop ballroom. Large windows and doors wide open to the lights of the city and the riverboats, the night breezes blowing the sheers, the band warming up, the trumpet man noodlin'. Some people here and there, drifting in, taking tables. The woman I'm with, there's something about what happens when we talk. Beale Street.
Comments:
Low and blood orange at 9:15.
Comments:
It's been a long day and I'm stretching back with a drink and some music. My practice is limited to women, women only, and as I read what Secret Addiction has to say my thoughts go in many directions. I will give counsel far superior to the preacher man's.
Comments
You can send your questions and confessions to me and I will give high-quality counsel.
Comments:
Yr wack, DeL. I'm the true Shababba. You look like a witchy-fingered white woman.
Comments:
I became engaged on June 22 to a very nice man. We're going to be married on December 2 and then go to North Africa for Christmas, but yesterday morning I was in a meeting where two powerful men from Seville were making a powerful presentation. I'm attracted to the attitudes of power, to its look and tone and feel, but in the meeting I was trying to keep a business face on (although, when either of them would look at me I would almost let him see that it was an effort). Six of us went out to lunch, but three left before 2:00 and then it was just the two Spaniards and I. I feel guilty today and I hate myself for the humiliation and everything I did until 8:30 - when I finally left their room, took the elevator down to the lobby, and got into a taxi. I'm so ashamed, but it's like I become another person and I can't help myself. They were gripping my hair in the back and making me do things and I liked it. It might be bad for me professionally, also, but one can deny it or come up with a story if they talk. In the end, though, I shouldn't have put myself in that position. It was a mistake, and I loathe myself for making it. This time I can't tell myself it was an accidental seduction or a chance encounter, and I really think I should seek counseling again. I mean, I see the rise and I have to respond to it. It always looks like an invitation to me, a flattering one. Or maybe this too is about power, the power his erection gives me. After all, I created it and it's flattering, so then I flatter him back. It's reciprocal.
Comments:
Johnny Etosha Mohassa does his real dancing with me only. You two wack girls can shake it all you wish, but it won't make any difference.
Comments;
Don't start me talkin', I'll tell everything I know. I'm
goin' break up this signifyin', somebody's got to go.
Comments:
Where the party at? Where the game? Who got it to roll?
Comments:
Hit it on the downbeat and walk.
Comments:
Got the hair, doin' the steps, the hands.
Comments:
Look, Dolce Giancarlo, I got nothing against what you say, but you're windy. You got that?
Comments:
Signifyin' Honkey, there's only room for one white boy around here and that's Johnny Etosha Mohassa.
Comments:
Oh yeah? Your site looks like some African dictator walking around with medals from his neck to his knees. Walking around here.
Comments:
Got big wad of monkey money to spend. Yr bigleg bigass mama and I will spend it everywhere, all nite long.
Comments:
Most of the men who visit Johnny's are signifying monkeys. We'll start with Giancarlo here.
Comments:
The American girls, they come to Italia in the summertime, all kinds of American girls, bowls of peaches and cream -- art girls, girls in convertibles, train-riding girls, cinema girls, innocent girls, girls in hot-rods, player girls, magazine-reading girls, newspaper-reading girls, literature girls, girls with video cameras, rich girls, hiking girls with backpacks. It is stimulus overload for the summertime American girls, in the ristoranti, in the cafes, walking on the Via Veneto or across the Piazza Navarro, and later, at the tables around the Piazza Piccola. The breezes, the sunshine, the fragrances, the wines. They squirm with it. They know we are watching them as they walk, and they know that we are not like American men. Some of them appear to be shy, but we know they are not, and after a day or two they are ready for the thrills of euro-style romance. They love the way we pronounce their names, over and over again, licking each syllable of their American-girl names, they smile at us in their American-girl way, and then it begins -- sometimes for only a night, sometimes for a week or two. Then they go home to their husbands or boyfriends, and they talk about the food and the wine of Italia, but rarely do they talk about us, except to the closest of their American-girl friends.
Comments:
I always have to steal my kisses from you.
Comments:
Everybody doin' they job. My job to sit heah at this sidewalk cafe table with fresh-squeezed lemonade and gin and cigarette. Chix job to walk by in Capri pants and sunglasses pretendin' not to look at my handsome self.
Comments:
Mieskuoro HUUTAJAT.
Comments:
Range-of-motion exercises. On your back, making the alphabet in the air with a 5-lb. ball. Shaking the blue ball on the tip of the black whip. The Rehab-A-Lula Finn woman in dark glasses who plays The Mieskuoro Huutajat Shouters for me each time I breeze in.
Comments:
Rain Girl is profligate with the smoke.
Comments
Fresh from the shower. Beach house screen porch, some sand beneath my feet and toes, the smell of aloe and green tea lotion on my arms and on the towels. The wind picking up. Pier lights, dune shadows, and the whitecaps beyond. Long chairs. A summer night reefer.
Comments:
Miss Emma scored some dreamer before midnight.
Comments:
For beauty, I got it all over The Flame Nebula. Quasar this. Buncha nebulae.
Comments:
Johnny Mohassa belongs to me, Dancing Shababba Woman. I will send Ugly Man to visit you some night when you are sleeping. First he will put a spell on you; then he will change your shape. Tutsi ho.
Comments:
The girl just refuses to take direction. She's not like my other one, who takes it very well. And on Saturday night, all the bad girls get their punishments.
Comments:
Many men from many tribes have tried, but only Johnny Mohassa can make me squirm like a serpent.
Comments:
The dancing Shababba woman and I have set up camp here on the river bank, where I wait for the lions. At night I see only their shadows. And sometimes after midnight it's the witch-fires of the outlaw Watusis and Ubangis, who dance and shriek deep in the jungle.
Comments:
For the summer of 2000 it's this Panther ----> 5" ground clearance, multi-spring clutch, finger-light exhaust lifter, piston-spread lubrication, forced oiling to both valve guides, dynamo housed in crank case, extra petrol reserve tap, gush-hub shock absorber, one-piece steel-forged head and frame neck lug.
Comments:
Blue smoke dancing.
Comments:
Listen to me, Casbah LeMoko -- I'm a Manhattan girl. Your homesick camshot is nice, for a location in Paris, but maybe you'd like a live shot of the street
from my apartment window, or real-time midtown . . . or maybe the bridge of bridges.
Comments:
Restless here among the tight, winding streets of Algiers. Doorways leading into doorways. The gang and I are stuck here in the hideout, but I want Gabrielle and Paris (cliquez l'image for the update when you get there).
I want a rooftop escape and a fast boat across the Mediterranean. Nord-Ouest.
Comments:
Who do you think is coming to town? You'll never guess
who. Emily
Brown -- Miss Brown to you. I know her eyes'll kill ya . . . don't you all get too familiar. Why do you think she's coming to town? Just wait and you'll see. Yes yes.
Comments:
Floatstill brown and tan dimlight stopmotion.
Comments:
Strafing fighter planes pass over this river valley. Machine-gun fire and mortars in the distance. I have bad-arm Johnny in the canvas surgery tent here at L'Hospital de Resistance, and he goes
under the knife tomorrow afternoon -- his .45, his carbine, and a framed photograph on the trunk at the foot of his cot. He thinks he is a tough guy. He thinks he is a joker. He tells me about this black and white movie which I have not seen, and
he says he wants a black glove for his right hand when it is over. Ghassan Bejjani, Neurosurgeon.
Comments:
Russian Sturgeon, like this. And another kind of sturgeon.
Comments:
They come runnin just as fast as they can. Every girl crazy bout a sharp-dressed man.
Comments:
Uh-huh. Bad mutha. The real thing. Complicated man. The cat who won't cop out when there's danger all about. Right on. John Shaft! This new Shaft is a disgrace to the name.
He's nothin' more than a tool of the middle class.
Comments:
You heard wrong.
Comments:
Johnny's Lounge was always a sophomoric and misogynistic place and I'm glad it's shut down. I hear Johnny left town and is living on one of those barrier islands, where he roasts
alligator meat on a stick. I hear he sold his cars and rides a horse now.
Johnny's Percheron.
