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The Tough Talk - 5.1 |
Writer/adventurer/big game hunter/fisherman/fighter/ladies' man - 07/21/99 18:46:17
The Heat You Pack? July 21, 1999
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Papa. Happy Hundredth.
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this is an invitation to all american chicks. come to cuba, chicks. i'll teach you how to rumba.
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Fourteen and Fixated or Die.
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You have to be 14 or fixated to like that song, Road Man and Jerzee Girl. Addendum: What a load of rhetoric this Road Man has. Bad Keats. Bad Fitzgerald. Bad Hemingway.
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I agree, Jerzee Girl. It 's a fool's song, but it sends me too. Powering across Texas at 102 mph, driving. A long indigo and orange sunset to remember. It's an indigo and orange world
on this night, as the thin Thunder Moon waxes now above
the mesa. Dusk in Texas. July 17, 1999.
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All right, scat-monkeys -- "Hold Me Tight," The Treasures, with the Wall of Sound. It rolls just like summer waves. It sends me.
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Tell it, Billy.
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This is in response to a private correspondence from RocDumb. Roc, I'm an ad man at the top of my profession. I know what people want. Your 'chicks' want me. They love that I watch
them, and they especially love it when I jump out and shake
it for them.
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It's Friday night and I just got paid, I'm a fool about my money don't try to save. Jim Dandy to the rescue.
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With shafaffa on the side.
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I want the frim fram sauce with the ahse and fay, with shafaffa on the side.
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Leitmotif. Again. I mean one more Redbone and I think
I'll have to ride my low red import out of here for good.
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This place has a Top-40 aesthetic.
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What about those roots you dig, Dr. YaYa? And I say "Come and Get Your Love" is better. Redbone. And maybe "Higher and Higher," Jackie Wilson, Mr. Excitement himself. Whatta you say? And another thing. I'm for Billy and against all
the helpers. These helpers can help themselves to this.
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The Spinners, " . . . every time I speak your name . . . ." The strings and the trumpets and the beat. The Delfonics, "Didn't I." Blue Suede, "Hooked On A Feeling."
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Even I can see that you're barely literate, BCP. First you misread Marlene B., and now you read Secret A. wrong. You're a misreader.
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Come on, Eileen.
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BCP seems like my brother, at large for two years. Turn yourself in, Billy, and get help.
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Secret Addiction, you've lost sight of what's important. The thrill is all that matters. You don't need help. My advice to you is take it to another level. Push the envelope. On the first day, I watch for only a minute. That's all I need.
Before long I'm watching around the clock and I still can't get enough. I'm watching so intently I feel like I'm willing her every move. Then bang, it's like I've disappeared, like all that's left of me is a dry shell. That's when I know I either
up the ante or die. That's when I jump out and shake it. Yeeeowwwzzzaaaa!
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I am thick and slow and in demand for kisses.
RocDumb@aol.com
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I specialize in desperation, Secret Addiction, and I'm cheaper than HeddShrnkr, more mainstream than FinDeK, and most important, I know a place in Hell's Kitchen where where we can get world-class gimlets.
Li Yung-Li, MD and Ph.D.
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I had a weekend no one would believe, and I must stop.
Now. I don't think I can do it by myself, however. Where should I begin? Yoga? Therapy? Prescription drugs? Childhood? Adolescence? Saturday night? Holistic and homeopathic cures?
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How could you distinguish him from anyone else, HeddShrnkr?
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There's an exhibitionist/voyeur in Johnny's now, but I don't accept male clients. My practice is limited to women. He does need to see someone, though. His message is a cry for help.
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Slow down, BCP. I was describing someone. Someone else. You don't read very well, do you, creep?
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Hey, chick in the window, Marlene. Get a load of this, baby!
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This site is a large jive monkey tree.
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On a hot afternoon in July, in the barroom of the Olaffson in Port au Prince, Johnny falls in love while Lester Young plays "Just You, Just Me." Lester Young, backed up by Sid Catlett
on drums, Slam Stewart on walkin' bass, and Johnnyboy Guameri on piano.
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She sat alone at tables in the windows of coffeehouses and cafes. She had a book with her, and sometimes she would look back at those who caught her eye -- people going by on the street and some of those inside. She imagined stories, some
of them with these characters and some of them short. You never know what might happen. It was sweetest when a summer storm blew up or when the windows were partially steamed in winter.
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So where'd you come from, Chat Baker?
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oh-sahmma u got ishuze.
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You woo me, HepKitten. That's how it works.
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I may have an interest, Chat Baker, but you'll have to woo me here, in public.
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I am powerful, athletic, fiery, and have LifeStyles. Fit women can send it to me --
ChatBakerr@aol.com
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I will not comment on Johnny's ignorance and racism. It is beneath me, as is Johnny himself. Instead, I am here to say that American "men" are simple-minded adolescents and American women are the most vain, neurotic, and easily-played
creatures on Earth.
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You're gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion. Late at night while youre sleepin' Poison Ivy comes a-creepin' around. Around. Poison ivy love will make you itch.
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They couldn't get this tabouli smell outta here while I was gone, so I'm closing the joint down for a paint job. I've
also got some carpenters and artisans working on my office
and apartment upstairs -- bigger windows, a spa, some tile,
more leather. Until these jobs are finished, everybody can
go to hell. I'm flying down to Port Au Prince with Rumba
Drums and checking into the Olaffson. I want some of that Haitian heat in July.
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Bone appetit, Secret Addiction.
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Hey Johnny, whispering in your ear, (kiss me)!
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The research and my personal experience support Blue Lou, not you, BerylB.
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I'm dancing with someone else, Milonguero. Maybe if you begged.
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Etta James blows. Try Nine Inch Nails.
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I'm blowin' outta town for awhile. Dr. YaYa and Jefferson are gonna run the joint in my absence.
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The Calecita requires a confident and strong follow. By maintaining a steady frame, the follow must be able to hold her lean into me without breaking or losing her balance for as many as five beats. It is one of my signature moves.
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It looks like Vicious Styles can get in line. There's been some dancing going on.
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The thing about Etta James is, she is truly there and she makes the song her own.
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A woman can be both, Lou.
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Blue Lou, you don't know jack. You're just an Armchair Freud.
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Vicious Styles--take a number, chick.
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I think you're mixing up two types of broads, BerylB. The behavior of the two is similar, but their driving forces are different. They're both compulsive, but the restless ones
are on the search which has no end and they're trendy.
The addicts are conservative and their neurons fire in a different way. They're tightly focused, like Secret
Addiction is, and unattached to any scene.
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Full Strawberry Moon Monday night.
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Women like Secret Addiction are easy to spot. They're always without real women friends because their only true interests
are themselves and the man game. Everyone knows what they
are. Instead of friendships they develop short-term, ad hoc connections with similar women ..... usually centered on the men of the moment. They attach themselves to a scene for awhile, then they drift on, restless.
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Leitmotif.
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Dr. YaYa, I nominate "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer," John Lee Hooker. "Big Boss Man," Jimmy Reed. "Key to the Highway," Little Walter. "Your Funeral and My Trial," Sonny Boy Williamson.
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Rockabilly Cat, since you began the proclaiming, I am here to proclaim that "So many roads, so many trains to ride . . . " is the greatest middle-of-the-night blues song of all time. "I was standin' at my window, when I heard that whistle
blow . . ." Otis Rush. Thass rite.
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Tonight I'm remembering the Grenadines. Maybe you're someone I would dance with now, Milonguero.
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Carlos got no response to that Nirvana question.
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hey, johnny: who you callin' inconsistent? ain't you the same guy who claims to have pole-vaulted out of prison? you're a goofball comic book villain. marlene: i saw that same documentary about the bubble submarine off the coast of
cuba just last night, but i didn't see you in it.
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Marlene, this lounge also attracts transparent animals and life forms never before seen by humans.
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I was in Cuba three weeks ago, diving off the south coast in
a bubble submarine. We went down to 1400 ft. looking for bioluminescence and found jellyfish putting on spectacular
light shows in the blackness, transparent animals releasing sparklers of light to distract predators and to communicate
with each other, synchronized squadrons of squid blinking on
and off, thin and mirror-silver lancet fish suspended
vertically and lit from within. Several life forms never
before seen by humans.
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Kid, your stories have no consistency and they're all over the map. Two weeks ago you were gonna bring Castro down. Today you're part of his revolution. There's only one constant, and that's the richness of your dream-life.
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hey, johnny: while you were snoozing in the Hotel Dona Marina, your Rumba Drums paid me a visit. she was a little nervous, johnny, a little shy, said she'd never been in the presence of
a true revolutionary before, said she'd never met a mythic
poet adventurer, said she had to know what it was like. i said, baby, i got the revolution, i got the movement right here. then i showed it to her. this is my town, johnny, but Rumba Drums can come back any time.
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I'm headed toward crisp sheets, candles, and down pillows.
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My joint is becoming a gathering place for clucking hens. Hovering hens. Look, it's simple -- the girl likes to do it and then beat herself for it. So do lots of broads. The only difference is that Secret Addiction puts it in writing.
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These people are quacks and hustlers, Secret Addiction.
They're jive monkeys, like Risa Tharpe says they are. I, on
the other hand, am the real thing -- and I say what you need
is some time on this boat, out here on the ocean of oceans. No sex allowed. We'll fish and dive and let the ocean rock us to sleep at night. It'll be us and the wide Pacific. Maybe never go back.
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SA, you need the right doses of St. John's Wort, Kava Kava, Gotu Kola, Gingko Biloba, and Vitamin E (external also: rub it into your skin and make an armor of it). As much sun as possible, but not on your face. Then, after that begins to do its
work, kick it up with wheatgrass juice to begin the slow detoxification. Begin taking six clear honeysuckle drops
orally before bed and as soon as you wake up. No catnip, Siberian Ginseng, or rue. That should get you over the
first hurdle. You should be able to stop. When you're
there, contact me and we'll go on. I'm thinking of my
personal Royal Jelly and poppy mixture. And maybe some
Reiki treatment and training (I'm a Master). I know how to
do this. Tomorrow is the longest day of the year, and it's the day to begin. Begin at dawn. We'll see how serious you are.
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Maybe I could help you with your disorder, S. Addiction. I'll comfort you in your time of need.
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I just woke up and I feel ashamed. I feel very bad. It happened again last night. I went to a party at a beach house on Shelter Island with a nice man, but there were was a crowd there. It was shoulder to shoulder on the screen porch and
out on the deck. Another man kept looking at me .... I know
his wife but I'd never met him. When he brushed past me I felt it, and once it started I couldn't control myself. We talked for a few minutes, then I followed him out to the boathouse and
did it there. It wasn't my intention .... I'd had only one vodka and tonic and I'd smoked a little grass. What if he
tells someone I know? It's a sunny day, but I loathe myself now.
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You're wrong about this one, Cynthia. I'm selective about the broads I fly to the tropics with.
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Summer solstice at 3:49 PM EDT tomorrow, Monday the 21st.
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You got it, Johnny.
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Johnny's Dream has been realized.
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She changed Johnny's mind about Cuba. He's suggestible.
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I heard that while in Cuba, Johnny got involved in a high-speed chase along Havana Bay. Johnny and Rumba Drums in that 59
Chevy out ahead of four classic American copcars from the
40's, 50's, and 60's. Johnny driving like a screaming
cheetah and eluding them with his own mix of speed and stealth.
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Bright, sunny, and very cool today. The air smelled almost like fall. Record low of 44 or 45 expected tonight.
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Looks like a full house tonight.
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Mo Peppa, I got other plans. You can tell it to yo mamma.
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Something told me it was over, when I saw you and her talking. Something deep down in my soul said "Cry, girl" when I saw you and that girl walking, now. Baby baby baby.
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One day we've got ham and bacon, next day nothin' shakin', ain't nobody's business if I do. If me and my baby fuss and fight, then the next minute we all right, ain't nobody's business if we do.
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Tell Automatic Slim, tell Razor-totin' Jim, tell
Butcher-knife-totin' Annie, tell Fast-talkin' Fanny, tell Abyssinian Ned, we goin' down to the Union Hall.
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Mo Peppa a Red Hot Mama and she call me her lollipop. She shakes it just like jelly, jelly on the kitchen shelf. She shakes it just for me and nobody else. She says Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy, she says hurry Daddy and bring me my lollipop.
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For you, X-Treme, canapes at an office reception maybe. Nobody owns me.
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You must be owned by a corporation, Rico, and living in an office prison. Maybe you get out on weekends and pretend to be something else for two days a week.
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Tonight I feel a restlessness, and I like it. I am thinking and remembering.
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It's the wrong song in the wrong style ... but it's all right with me.
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X-Treme, you dudes are a dime a dozen here in 1999. You got no style. Buncha angry Abercrombie and Fitch burb-boys with swimming pools in your parents' back yards. Cell phones.
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Street luge! Skysurfing! Freeflying at 180 MPH and then
going into the James Brown. I don't look at fear, I look
past it. If your lines get tangled, you have to clear
them in time or you die. Sometimes you have to cut your
lines to survive. I'd rather go out that way than have a
heart attack in a suit in an office. No office for me.
Orgy -- the Candyass CD.
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elln stooort-nye rrrineh greeemnt bauchu, seekrt uhdickshn.
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Whose isn't, Silky Sister?
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reeesa yr phantasee lyf iz jus lyka monkeez.
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You had the same song on at 9:00 yesterday morning, Gato. You're yet another jive monkey.
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Have this laptop here on the balcony of Los Cuanto Vientos in Puerto Vallarta, looking out over the ocean of oceans, the one that leads to Bali Hai, Tahiti, Fiji, Sumatra, Borneo, and
New Guinea. Bright light. I'm listening to a cat sing "It Could Happen to You" on this old radio. I want some lemonade pie for breakfast.
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Cotton Club Orchestra, thass rite. And "Sleepy Time Down South" too.
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I'll be down to get you in a taxi honey, better be ready at
half past eight, now honey don't be late, I wanta be there when the band starts playin'. Gonna dance off both of my shoes,
when they play those Jellyroll Blues, tomorrow night at
the Darktown Strutters Ball.
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I am Carlos. I'm looking for Nirvana. Any of you chicks got Nirvana to offer? I'll accept nothing less.
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You've got to ..... keep an eye on spring and run when churchbells ring.
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After the catfight, chix, you can take a look at me. Both of you can behold! I am here. But for now, don't stop. I love the catfight legs and hair and red fingernails and hose and the catfight garter belts.
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Secret A., you speak like someone who has been brainwashed.
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You're cruel and misinformed, Ellen Stewart. You talk like someone from the 19th Century.
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You will disagree, Secret A., but it seems like a matter of
will to me. You sound like a product of the self-help industry. I may be wrong, but I see it in the way you phrase things. You sound like someone who has been coached in how to make excuses for herself.
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So Carmen Lopez, blow me a kiss.
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I have several things to say. One, this place has several familiar leitmotifs going. I could name them all, but I won't. Two, it's sophomoric, and three it's predictable. Does anyone believe that Johnny and his assembled warriors of the city
will lose the battle with the Arabs? Thin story line. Most often no story line. Too much posturing. Not much here.
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That was unnecessary, Ellen Stewart. It's a recognized disorder and I'm trying to deal with it.
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Red-zone rpms. Windows all the way down and A/C on max aimed at my face and chest.
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My air conditioning is strong and reliable. I like to come in
from a sixteen-block walk and luxuriate in the coolness, in the chill. On days like this, I keep the light down low too. It's a mood created only by heat waves or the month of August.
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We're stretched out here in this long heat-wave sunset, low chairs in the sand, surf rolling up to our feet, breeze
blowin' in off the ocean. Slow-motion life on the
shore of this undeveloped Sea Island.
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Cynicism and base sentiments.
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You do things you don't intend to, Secret A.? I think you probably intend to do those very things -- and think about
doing them often. You want to feel it spreading from your center and the shakes coming on. It has to lead to something, or you wouldn't be able to get the sensations. I've got the picture. You're in it from the shoulders up.
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I have practiced law for seventeen years and I see stories
from the inside, so I know something about romance. If you possess only normal amounts of perception, and if you have
good reason to suspect that your baby is hiding things and telling you half-stories, the odds are 94% that you're right. Often much more than you imagine.
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Pariseanne is like Maryeanne, Jive Monkey Milonguero. What is it with this "love the women" talk?
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I will confess also. More men. More danger. A craving. It begins when I notice that someone is looking at me. I get the adrenaline rush and I surrender to it. The intrigue. Sex as power. Then I do things I don't intend to. It's about
getting the shakes of anticipation, that feeling, and not
really about the sex which follows. The sex itself is almost empty, and when it's over I feel the shame and just want out of there.
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Mercury rising bright on the horizon at dusk. Venus very bright. Wednesday evening, June 16, Venus and the Moon together. Rare and beautiful beyond description.
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Tangueros: Unless she is a true Milonguera, do not dance with
a woman twice in a row. Escort her to her table until her
legs return. If she is a good dancer, you may call upon her
to Tango again, but only if you are prepared to love her.
A German woman will demand it, a Pariseanne will expect it,
and an American woman will beg for it.
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I have come to Johnny's Lounge to confess. I cheated in a golf tournament, I lied about a convertible top, and I drive recklessly. There is more.
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Scotland, home of the brave and the indomitable. The spirit of Vercingetorix.
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Spotlight on James Brown, now. Spotlight on Sam and Dave, now. Don't they look great, y'all?
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I arch it for one man, Milonguero. Perhaps two. You're not one of them, so you'll have to try the other women in here. They'll be flattered and charmed, I'm sure.
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Rico, this spotlight thing is reminiscent of Johnny's Dream in Part Four. It's derivative.
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Real women, Milongeuras, are led; the rest are handled. Arch your back as you cross the floor into my arms, Kat, and I will be the judge.
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Blazing highway heat here at the beginning of June.
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Back from the Grenadines to a ninety degree night with an air conditioning system that went out during the afternoon. Sweat, tossing, thin sleep, strange, disturbing dreams of flown love. Finally, at 2:30 a.m., out onto the fire escape with a chaise
longue, an oscillating fan, a sheet and a pillow. The horns,
the all-night hum. Deep sleep and oh sweet dreams at last.
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hepkitten: right now i'm stretched out on the balcony that overlooks La Plaza Vieja and the statue of the great revolutionary Conde De Ricla, who took Havana from the Brits
in 1763 and restored Spanish rule. i'm sippin a mojito, chewin
a Montecristo Numero Dos--the smoothest smoke in the
world--and the air is hot and throbbing with Rumba. I own
this place. Castro's days are numbered.
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The spotlight's yours, Rico. It's not a bad show when you're on.
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Listen. If you're talkin' about deep Spanish guitars or the moves of the matador or clapping in a flamenco joint at 3
AM, or if it's just general high-voltage presence, then the
spotlight comes to me -- Rico Suave. Got that, Sleepy/Lazy?
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I have that same honeysuckle tonight, Katarina Baader. I'm a dancer.
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I agree with Lily about the Belmont Stakes. And another thing ..... what happened to The Kid?
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Kat, the Milonguero is another jive monkey. They swing through here often.
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It's one of those early summer nights. The honeysuckle might as well be jasmine. Milonguero, I have danced with Johnny and, even more of an experience, I have danced with Rousseau. The dancers are already here. There's really no place for you.
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Do not love a woman before Tango. It will weaken her knees and your desire. Always love a woman after Tango.
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Johnny you are so wrong. Charismatic was a Triple Crown
horse. The jockey, Chris Antley, now knows what it was he
felt at the 8th pole, just as the horse was beginning the
burst to inevitable victory. Antley felt the huge
burst of power come forth, but it stopped. Nothing like
this had ever happened before. Once this great-grandson of Secretariat turned on the juice, it had always stayed there.
For several seconds, it was a mystery to Antley and he felt nothing unusual from the horse's leg -- just this quick fade
of the new power. And the rider himself provided the greatest moment of the race with his life-saving leap at the finish
line and the quick and perfect action to follow. He kept the
two fractures from becoming a life-ending break. The rider knew what to do and it looked instinctive. It was beautiful.
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Johnny's a man who knows his horses. He can do almost everything except pick the winner.
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" . . . and knew Stephen Foster and the brick mansion of his song; no longer the dark and bloody ground of memory now, but already my old Kentucky home . . . even from passing the
stables, you carry with you the smell of linament and ammonia
and straw -- the strong, quiet aroma of horses . . . we
ourselves are on the track now, but carefully and discreetly
back against the rail . . . some people can bet on a horse without ever seeing one outside a Central Park fiacre
. . ." WF, Sports Illustrated, 5/16/55.
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And this too: the song, the brick mansion, matched to the apotheosis: Stephen Foster as handmaiden to the Horse as the
band announces that it is now about to be the one thirty
minutes past 4 o'clock out of all possible 4 o'clocks on one Saturday afternoon out of all possible Saturday afternoons.
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. . . and this is the Secretariat of websites.
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I agree, Hotspur. Here are my high-quality picks and a prediction-- Menifee to win; Vision and Verse to place; Lemon Drop Kid to show. Something bodes ill for Charismatic, and I don't think he'll finish in the money. Charismatic will be
an also ran on the 25th anniversary of the greatest performance by the greatest racehorse in the history of planet Earth --
the peerless Secretariat, son of Bold Ruler. The 1.5 miles
in 2 minutes, 24 seconds -- 31 lengths ahead of the nearest
horse and pulling away. The only horse ever to run the
Kentucky Derby in under 2 minutes. Can't touch this.
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Charismatic won't win the Triple Crown on Saturday.
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It's a simple situation. These A-rabs muscled into my joint while I was gone, while I was up here at Alphonse's. This time they're gonna get a taste of me in person, and unlike the city authorities and the city officials, I don't take oil
money. After these rughead corsairs have been lulled by
the broads, Smoke, we ease in and the show begins, a show
of biblical proportions. It's gonna be a jihad to remember,
and these Muhammads can tell the story while they're eatin'
lamb in Paradise, for eternity.
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Crushed orange mint has the power to bring back the dead. It's dry and pungent and not like other mints.
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So Johnny, what about this middle-of-June proposal? How
serious are you about this idea, the one we all agreed on? Are you gonna be back from this hydroplane cruise with Rumba Drums? Some of us have an attention span, and we're wondering if
your mind's on the job. You been sleeping a lot?
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Darlene Love with the wall of sound behind her. Now Marvin Gaye is singin' "What's Goin' On." Mo Peppa is dancin' in her seat beside me. She's swaying. Everything in slow motion.
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I have a little too much edge for you, Milonguero. I want to meet Johnny.
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thah grattes rahkn roll sahnga alll tyymmmm is Da Doo Ron Ron, rokkaBilli kat.
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Vicious Styles--you sound like my kinda chick. Let's see what you got. Queres bailar?
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We're not doin' no barbeque. Some Asian jungle pig on
this platter, maybe. We're not at the shore, either. The Strutters and I are in this Vietnamese Colonial place on E.
87th. We got some long-legged coochie with us and we're the color and the flash in here. We own this joint. I say the middle of June, Jean Paul. We can meet here in the city, in
this place maybe, and then after a few drinks we take some
taxis over to 52nd St. and take care of business. I'm ready to set a date.
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Linen jeans, rayon sundress, short shorts, Frette bikini and sarong, Bulgari sunglasses, crocodile baguette bag, bone
comb, classic rectangular Cartier watch, Dolce & Gabanna slides, Canouan in the Grenadines. Tango on the veranda under the full moon in the tropical night. Long hair. Flowers in big clear vases on the tables, flowers everywhere, the ocean breezes,
the lantern light, the swell of the violins, and the bandoneon that is always there. Champagne. Later, ivory satin bustier and ivory-tulle garter by Colette Dinnigan. Strappy mules.
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This gorgeous Memorial Day weekend has begun. I am off.
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I'm here to proclaim that Jerry Lee Lewis singing "High School Confidential" is the greatest rock and roll song of all time.
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Sweet night here in the garden. Mondo notte dolce.
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Some of that's true, Marlene.
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I have it from an inside source that Johnny is generous, thoughtful, funny, sweet, sexy, smart, charming, and altogether dreamy, even though he has an attitude sometimes. It's these Tough Talkers who give his lounge a bad name. This is what
I was told by someone who seems to know, and I thought I would share the information.
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Mondo flamenco, mondo rico, mondo toro, mondo appetito, mondo ultimatumo, mondo go-downo, mondo mate-o, mondo thrillo, mondo playero, mondo chicko, mondo strato, mondo rooto, mondo suito, mondo accelerato, mondo turbo, mondo luciano, mondo aero,
mondo noiro.
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Road Man: I'll call for a consultation the next time I'm in a drag race. Rico: We're sure you're a heel-clicking legend in those flamenco bars of Madrid.
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What you do at the starting line of a drag race depends on whether you're in an automatic or a stick. If it's an automatic, you jack it up -- you jam the brake down full force, then you punch the accelerator and fire the rear end up in the air, up to the limit. You leave it up there, poised for the smoking release, taking your cues from the brake -- which is just at the edge of giving way. With a stick, it's the big revs, the rackoffs, the full starting-line show, and you
work the clutch and the accelerator. No brakes involved. I like them both.
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I enter these flamenco bars in the back alleys of Madrid like
the matador -- shoulders back, elbows back, chin up, the tight dream-swell thrust forward, doing the steps. The lean gypsy women look up at me, their eyes shining from beneath their heavy lids. I bring their love down.
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Mo Peppa and I are eatin' shrimp and potato salad in this place by the creek, and on the jukebox we have "Baby, Now That I've Found You" by the Foundations. She gives me the big smile. After this it's Len Barry, "1-2-3."
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I'll say it again -- the crudest forms of misogyny. To Ellen Stewart: Speak for yourself, tramp.
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You're right, Alan. It's true. I did it .... and now I cheat on him.
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For single women, the name of the game in this town is Suck A
Suit To Get What You Want. Every year a new bevy arrives
from Cleveland and St. Louis and Albuquerque and from all
over the world. It's a constant flow. They get their
apartments, they learn the rules, and the suit-sucking begins
-- sometimes over time, sometimes immediately. They dress for
us and they compete for us. It's a genetic thing; it's in
their hard-wiring. For men, the name of the game is Suck Up To The Right Suit And Maybe Advance.
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rozebudz
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Rosebuds. Some rain.
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Do we have opium?
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What ended while I was gone? What began?
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"Some Other Spring," Kat.
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What music is playing?
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So Johnny turned around, eased into the Mustang after giving Rumba Drums a slow goodbye kiss on the runway, cruised down
the river to Luciano's Seafood and bought the joint, built
a cabin in the forest near the stream where he first saw
the mountain lion tracks, and changed his name to Hudson Catskill.
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Dude. What about the mountain lion, Dude?
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Shoshin Nagami is another jive monkey, of which this joint has an abundance.
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Doctor YaYa's better now. He brings my love down. He my peppa grinder.
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kafay kahfee & sunlite & songza warblrz.
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It's where you can move under cover of darkness, slipping in
and out of the shadows. This love contains angles, and everyone looks like a movie star. Sometimes the motives are mixed or uncertain, and sometimes there is just the moment. In black and white, your skin absolutely glows. Your skin is luminous.
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The nature of love noir.
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Shoshin Nagami, you can woo and sing in some Asian joint. This place is American.
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Ninjutsu. Shorinjiryu Karatedo. Nuki Ashi. Pa-Kua. Hsing-I. Aikido. Wu-style Tai-Chi. Qi-Gong.
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Stick to hip-hop, Sister.
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I got all the powers of mustard, and I got spats, and all the classical Gypsy-King guitars of Spain too. The chix love me over here at Fiesta time, and they're wild for the sweet rocket.
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In person only, I might answer a Teuton's question.
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lythoooaynianz & latz duit. elektrik eelz i myt add duit
tho it shokz them i know.
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Name the love of your life, here on this bright Saturday morning in the middle of May. I want the name.
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You got that, Sleepy/Lazy, about the Hyssop and the Lemon Balm?
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Sleepy/Lazy, in medieval times Hyssop was strewn on floors to freshen stale air, and today its flowers are used in monasteries to flavor liqueurs. Mallow has been used medicinally since ancient times. Sweet Rocket has all the powers of mustard,
and Lemon Balm may be rubbed on wooden surfaces and on the skin to impart fragrance and gloss. Cut the Lemon Balm stems to the ground before they flower and hang them upside down in a hot room. Holistic health and homeopathic cures.
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It's fling time. Who's next?
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I want mo peppa on it.
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So you're going to take off, Johnny?
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The lull. The storm. Escape. Return.
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I expected more of you, Johnny, after having spent a winter waiting for spring.
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Not only that, Andreadoria, but it's also sophomoric and it's not going anywhere. I'm thinking perhaps it's time for one of those other lounges we've been visiting.
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The crudest forms of misogyny. The next one will claim it's genetic and that it's part of our hard wiring. They're all apes in here, as Risa says.
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Lu, when I drift into the hot Corrida de Toros in Madrid, in a linen suit, tan and white spectators with spats, my Panama hat, those dark glasses for the bright sun, that Iberian light that
is like no other, the men in the crowd say "He's the American"
and the women in white begin to squirm. I'm lookin' better than the matador.
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RicoSuave...this might be the stupidest thing you've said yet. As if romance and sex isn't tied into all that. A rock-dumb commentary.
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I admire Velocevita. Most chix do it and then come up with
all these justifications. Sometimes they do their
rationalizing in advance, and these stories are often so elaborate they're comic. They'll say anything. They
blame their husbands, ex-husbands, their vitamins and
minerals, their qi, their parents, shrinks, yoga teachers, boyfriends, childhood traumas, their search for an identity, you name it ..... anything but their own appetites for romance and
sex. Even to each other. Chix are amazing things to behold when they're in this mode. There's none of this coming from
V.
