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The Tough Talk - 4.2 |
Blue Lou - 05/12/99 17:07:36
The Heat You Pack? None of your business.
Comments:
Your message must have been intercepted, LuLu, or maybe you sent it to another correspondent.
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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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Blue Lou....did you ignore my message...or did it just slip under the carpet ala 19th century novel style?
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Johnny, I got your counsel right here. You can counsel this.
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Bobby Three-Heads, I heard your ugly mother gave you lots of extra attention when you were an ugly child.
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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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You must have taken a hit, Rico. Did that woman you were with in Saratoga Springs bring up the familiar smoke? You're takin' this broad way too seriously. You got to learn that it's a game and that broads are come-and-go things.
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Rico, nothing is going on. It's your imagination. You're insecure and jealous.
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And another thing. Velocevita didn't create the usual
chick smokescreen for playing around, which is to tell her
man that it's his problem, that he's just insecure and jealous. I've seen rock-dumb dudes back off to prove to the lyin' chick that they're not insecure. What they're really provin' is that they'll fall for anything. Love with some broads is war.
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Rico Suave--Not only do I look better than the matador, but I got better moves. I'll be at Las Ventas on the 15th for the Fiesta de San Isidora and we'll see who the chicks squirm for.
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Sleepy/Lazy sounds light on his feet.
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Rico is one of those Garhis, one of those long-armed cruisers of the woodlands and the plains.
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Well, I recommend a long chair in the sun. With some towels and some lotions.
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reeeko yr onlee tahkin bau whyyyt grrlz. whyyyt grrlz r lyykkat, thah oneza-wenta kallaj. weir dyffrnt.
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"When love was just a torch song, fashioned for impulsive ingenues."
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Chix were born to give you fever, be it farenheit or centigrade.
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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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So you're back, LuLu.
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And the most important point.... retarded brother....ask Jefferson if he agrees. Does Jefferson believe Velocevita is free from all the items on your list? ha...ha...ha...ha...
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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.
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The parade is in your honor, Velma-Veloce. It's your kinda parade. If he would talk to you, that's what he'd say.
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I think you should fly with me, Johnny, jet or propellor-driven. I like both, and I believe you should drop Rumba Drums.
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Jefferson won't talk to me. He's my husband, but he won't let me near him, and without his love it's a honky-tonk parade. I don't think he understands that George Jackson was just a fling. To Risa: You have some attitude. Maybe RicoSuave
is your man.
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Everyone in this joint can eat it.
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Too much ambergris is dangerous.
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Did she get a little too much ambergris?
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Doc...I say it to myself in the morning when I'm barely awake...Docmandu...I say it in those incredible moments when I'm truly alive: at the top of Mt. Aetna...in the deep of a dive off Ambergris Cay.
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Doctor YaYa is my man. He magic.
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Dude. Rock. Saxophone. Jim Dandy and the Mountain
Lion. Dude.
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We see it differently.
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What's mallarme, chick?
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Enough of this Wild Discovery, Johnny. We want you back here in the city.
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I advised Johnny via short-wave transmitter to do a trifecta, but he wouldn't listen.
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You got it exactly backwards, Johnny.
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jahneee ill tayk summa thatt akshahnnn onna run4tha rozez ..... az post tymmm nearz.
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Dude. Mountain lion. Dude.
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Anybody around here got some attitude? You people are just walkin' around sap-struck by the glories of May. Gimme a nite club and a cigarette.
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Cat Thief is my horse too, Gloria. Son of Storm Cat. I
predict Menifee and then Charismatic, the other son of Storm Cat, for place and show. I also predict that nothing from Dubai will perform. Sheik Hamdan Al Maktoum should take his horses to
some United Nations track, or maybe to a camel show, but not to the truly Confederate part of Kentucky. Stephen Collins Foster.
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The glory of bright Saturday mornings in May. My pick for the Derby is Cat Thief at 8-1.
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Love, adventure, poetry, violins, wisteria, lilacs, lilies of the valley, fat reefers, lime soda with wedges of fresh
lime, the huge white Moon and red Mars. May Day. You can't top this.
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Johnny's gonna tell me, Road Man, about the blacktops of America.
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Slow down, Road Man. You got a couple a months before those blacktops begin to shimmer.
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Sometimes a trumpet man hits the note wrong. Usually the
note up front or one he has to reach for. It's a blown note. Bunny Berrigan did it all the time, and so did Louis
Armstrong. They all do it. They're hittin' it hard, and there's beauty in the blown notes of great trumpet players.
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Put on some big tires this morning. I'm ready to rumble.
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That's two of us, Lily. I'm livin' that Lilac Life also.
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I'm down here in South Carolina, back on the island, working the root, taking the root cure. Mo Peppa and I drove down here in her Lincoln, and she's giving me therapeutic rubs out here on the beach. The convalescence is goin' on.
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Johnny, you've been at that monastery too long. What are you, up in a tree with a short-wave radio and a mask on the back of your head?
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BerylB seems surprised.
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Sexist species-slurs.
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These late-April mornings. These end-of-April sunsets.
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Full moon and lilacs tomorrow night.
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So we got Science-Class Johnny now?
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Risa, I know about comics, and Film Noir Johnny's is extra high-quality.
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Film Noir Johnny's is just a comic book.
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Dude. Johnny. Florida panthers in the Everglades. Dude.
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Very sunny and very bright on this Sunday morning. It might get up to 70 this afternoon. Now, it's the German woman's Duke Ellington CD, which I found here in Doc's stacks, coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice, and I have all the windows
wide open. About noon I'm meeting him at the Nector Coffee Shop, and then we're going into the park to meander.
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Rico, I often prefer spiritual rooms like those inhabited by FinDeK. Aromatherapy.
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If you could have only one Duke Ellington CD, I recommend
Duke Ellington Plays Standards, Columbia, from the This Is Jazz series. It's got everything, in 13 numbers, including 'A' Train live from a lost ballroom in Pennsylvania, 'A' Train sung by Scat Ray Nance, Stormy Weather sung by Ivie Anderson, Sunny Side,
Autumn Leaves in French and English with a violin, Mood Indigo and Satin Doll recorded live at the Holiday Ballroom in
Chicago. You can't top this. Sugar Hill in Harlem.
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I like an intellectual chick on Saturday morning. I have a spiritual room that's open for breakfast.
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On this bright Saturday morning I'm listening to public radio, looking at this big book of paintings, and reading more Baudelaire. I'm thinking that a picture is a poem without words, and I've concluded that Baudelaire found in Poe,
an American, a kindred spirit and an inspiration. Poe had
lived in the same spiritual rooms decades before him.
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You're the missing link, Johnny.
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You'd better sign up this long-armed Garhi cruiser for the
big take-back of Chaldea, Johnny.
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Don't respond to the siren song of Carmen Lopez, Johnny. Turn your ear toward the mouth of Lily, who is whispering to you.
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Dual exhausts and a five-speed and a V-8 engine.
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Look, broad, I move at my own pace.
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Who cares about your mountain lion, Johnny? Come back to the city and cause some trouble.
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Listen up, jive turkeys. It ain't "Can't Top That." It's
"Can't Touch This." M.C. Hammer shouldn't have given up
his career as a back-up dancer for cocoa Paula Abdul. Don't
get me started on this Wu-Tang, either. They don't even
have instruments, man, just turntables, amplitude, and a bunch
a nonsense jabber.
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I've always liked Hammer, and any you Wu-Tang dudez who don't think he's mean and ugly enuf can rap on this. I say Wu-Tang Clan is a buncha Fetchits.
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rummba drms thah hammah song iz cant tutch this. ya gottit way wrong. whachu doin up there?
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I catch Doc's eye from across the courtyard and he does a dance. My heart rocks to the beat.
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Follow your dream, Johnny. It's biblical.
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Johnny, before I'm in, I gotta be sure these chix have the ability to lull.
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You're the only one around here with a brain, Fin. The rest of these people perch in jungle trees and chatter.
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The peace that comes with understanding, not a suite in Saratoga Springs with a broad and eucalyptus oil in steam, not the road, not the root, not the zoot, not shots of whiskey, not golden calves, not strutting women in sunglasses, not Cadillacs
and Buicks and Corvettes, not Colt Pythons, not Rhett Butler disguises. The smell of a candle after it's been blown out.
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Give it up, Johnny. You're blind to yourself. Maybe Luciano is ready to retire. What is he, 80? Maybe he'd like to sell to someone like you.
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" .... talking about either hair or art." It would have to
be one or the other. Right, Johnny?
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For driving up the Hudson, it's gotta be my Cadillac Eldorado. And behind me are some of the other Strutters in theirs. We're coming up 87 in shiny black Eldorados. Every now and then we do some skilled weaving into and out of traffic.
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Johnny, what's a Portofino lantern? Johnny's an interior decorator. And HepCat, I like those old Buicks with chrome and portholes and Dyna-flow.
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I'll drive, baby. We'll cruise up the river in the Bopmobile. Got surround-sound and a big engine. Automatic transmission. Dyna-flow.
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Me too, Johnnyboy. I'm ready for some river. I need to get out of town for a few days.
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Johnny, why don't you talk to Brother Alphonse about a room for me? A room with a view. I'm ready for a spring vacation, a change of scenery. And Lou's On The River sounds like my
kind of place for some afternoons and evenings in April,
here at the beginning of the sweetest of all seasons. You
can't top this.
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Listen, Habib Nasif Masood Salah Bel-Shazza, I say it's A-rab and you can bring your problem to me, here at the Holy Cross Monastery, or you can take it to your Imama.
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Risa, you are the most suspicious and excitable woman ever to appear in the amber light of Johnny's Lounge. You need something to calm you down.
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And another one! Where do they come from? This one's throwing red meat out for Mountain Lion Johnny.
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Johnny, you're going to have to drop this A-rab thing. It's Arab. Doesn't rhyme with Ahab.
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I'm a catfight man.
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reeesa yr on smmm monkee-spottin rampaje. id saa ya gat brrrnd recentlee & so yr relee tite & hateflll. yr the kinda grrl who thinx 2 much.
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Silky Sister, you are deluded. You think you have a man here, but what you really have is a jive monkey. It's the plight of many women in our times.
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road man ill ryyyd witchu.
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The gears. The curves. Ocean towns and islands along the east coast, from Massachusetts to Georgia. And then the
Appalachians and the Smokies. And off across the
flat heartland. And up into Wyoming for the Grand Tetons
and into the Rocky Mountains this way. The sunshine. The thick sunsets.
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Johnny, dude. You and Slobodan Milosevich. Dude.
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Slobodan Milosevic, if I were there, I'd send you a double vodka and maybe we'd take a table.
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Risa Tharpe got a one-track mind. Come over here and kiss me, Risa Tharpe.
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Slobodan Milosevic, you're another jive monkey. Another one.
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I am a patriot, an idealist and a proud Serb. You Americans have allowed your propaganda machine to demonize me, as you always do. Bring on your Apache helicopters. Bring on
your B-52s. Sometimes at night I visit Johnny's and find comfort here, a solace. I've been coming in for the past
five months.
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A message for the Chaldeans: "Howl ye; for the day of the
Lord is at hand; it shall come as a destruction from the Almighty...Behold, the day of the Lord cometh, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger, to lay the land desolate: and he
shall destroy the sinners thereof out of it ... Therefore I
will shake the heavens, and the earth shall remove out of her place, in the wrath of the Lord of hosts, and in the day of his
fierce anger...Every one that is found shall be thrust
through; and every one that is joined unto them shall fall
by the sword...their houses shall be spoiled, and their
wives ravished...And Babylon, the glory of kingdoms, the
beauty of the Chaldees' excellency, shall be as when
God overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah...and her time is near
to come, and her days shall not be prolonged." (Isaiah 13)
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Mrs. Watson, I'm shaping another plan.
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This is for you, Johnny: "And the Midianites and the
Amakelites and all the tribes of the east lay along in the valley like locusts for multitude; and their camels were without number, as the sand by the seaside for multitude. So Gideon, and the hundred men that were with him, came unto the
outside of the camp . . . and they blew the trumpets and brake the pitchers, and held the lamps in their left hands, and the trumpets in their right hands to blow withal; and they cried, The sword of the Lord, and of Gideon. And they stood, every
man in his place round about the camp; and all the host ran, and cried, and fled." Judges 7. 12, 19-21.
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Easter. Doc left early this morning -- to the Bronx.
Drinking coffee with thick cream. Cream/no cream. With him/without him. I'm in this terrycloth robe, looking down at the traffic, thinking of all these years. Lost an hour last night.
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What I got, Risa Tharpe, among many other fine qualities, is stealth. Stealth like these Chaldeans have never witnessed. They had low-grade competition in Asia Minor. We're big league. Got that, broad?
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Johnny, you're no match for the Chaldeans. One of your
warriors has a fractured skull, one was stabbed three times
in the ribs, and the Neanderthal you've never met or seen is locked up. You and Rousseau and Bobby Three-Heads are the only ones not compromised. Three of you. There are nine Chaldeans, and they are in tune.
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Velahhhh-chay-veeeta!!! Maybe you're trying to annoy me. Could that be?
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Sharla grrl, if you want some ordinary trouble try someone else. If you want mega-destruction, then mess with me. You're in way over your head.
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Hey, Velo...fast girl...you think I'm dumb because I don't wanna read your Dead Testament? Reading that make you smart? You so smart you can explain the world now, eh? Explain dark matter, explain Kosovo, explain electricity ....
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This some buncha chix talkin' at the women's room mirror?
And another thing. If I'd known when the Chaldeans were
going to arrive, I might have left this broad for a day and
been there when they appeared. I might have tipped the
balance for Jefferson and the Root Man and the Neanderthal
and the Darktown Strutters. We're still up here steamin'
with eucalyptus oil. We've extended our stay. The eucalyptus oil has gone to my head.
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Katarina and Cynthia are right.
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Katarina, on 3/8 you told of one way we know. There's one more way. Only one -- food. How food tastes. There are sensors in our tongues that tell us. The palate has new life when you're together.
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This air of April is heady, especially after a rain. I've opened the windows and am looking down at the street and at
all the buildings uptown, the lights. It's almost foggy.
The hum in the air. The sounds of the traffic. Sirens
off and on. Horns. Doc is asleep.
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I'll shut Father MacVicar up if no one else will. He's just a hack, a shill. I'm here in Johnny's Lounge reading Baudelaire and Rimbaud for one of the courses I'm teaching and doing eye work with about five men.
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I have received more strange news from the Archdiocese of Havana, Cuba. The young man who washed up along the shore
of the village of Macondo and was mistaken for "El
Salvadore" finally awoke. The festival of his awakening,
the "Fiesta de Se Despierta", has gone on for twenty
days and twenty nights. The village is awash now in gluttony and lust, Father Jorge reports. The people have killed all of their livestock, depleted their stores, and surrendered their daughters.
Comments:
Don't stop, Mrs. Watson! "Nebuchadnezzar spake and said unto them, Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, do not ye serve my gods nor worship the golden image which I have set up? Now if ye be ready that at what time ye hear the sound of
the cornet, flute, harp, psaltery, and dulcimer, and all kinds of music, ye fall down and worship the image which I have
made; well and good. But if ye worship not, ye shall be
cast the same hour into the midst of the burning fiery
furnace." Daniel 3. 14, 15.
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Let's talk kings tonight. "And in the second reign of Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadnezzar dreamed dreams, wherewith his spirit was troubled, and his sleep brake from him. Then the king commanded to call the magicians, and the astrologers,
and the sorcerers, and the Chaldeans, for to shew the king his dreams." Daniel 2. 1-2.
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We're stopping now on 52nd St. for the people to view the massive golden head above the doorway into Chaldea. Our
drivers and guides do five minutes on it. The word is that
one Chaldean with a gun is always watching it, all day and
all night long. From a window, maybe, or from a car.
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The great big idol with the golden head is now up over the door of the joint previously known as Jean Paul Noir's. The new
name is Chaldea, and they're already flockin' here from all over town. They're lined up around the corner. I have three Chaldeans just working the door. We're the hottest place in
the city. Instantly famous and desirable. It was the
newspaper stories, the newspaper accounts. That's what did
it for us. And those sharp-focus pictures. Magazine people
and TV people were in here all afternoon. Many of them are still in here -- dancing, smoking, smiling, laughing, drinking, enjoying the place and the people in it. These are the days. They love the jukebox, and I'm keeping it just the way it
is. In fact, I'm not going to change anything else. The atmospherics in here are just right.
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Johnny some poet now?
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A fairground's painted swings.
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You're dumb, Sharla. You should read the Old Testament before you talk about it.
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biblykll blather?
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The alto sax of Charlie Parker will scare off a mountain lion, Johnny. Better not be crankin' the jazz in your tent. A jive monkey walking with a mountain lion. You might get along real well with this mountain lion. Brother Spain said it was a female too.
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The jungle is thick with trees, and the trees are thick with jive monkeys.
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Wanda, Wanda. What you read into things.
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What kind of woman are you, Sharla? There's a struggle going
on for the heart and soul of Johnny's Lounge, maybe some
sort of Armageddon, and you're talking about romance. If
it's sex you want, well .... even the dumbest girl can always find that.
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I liked this place better when it was about men and women and rock and roll. Meaningful stuff. Not all this biblical blather.
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"And lo, thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and can play well upon an instrument: for they hear thy words, but they do them not." Ezekiel 34. 32.
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We've landed in Boston, and we're comin' down the coast in three silver Corvettes. Somewhere behind us is Babylonian Slim, in the truck which carries the great big idol with the golden head. We're comin' down 95 and will enter via the
Cross-Bronx Expressway.
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Some people refuse to grow up.
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Oh yeah? You tell me when it truly gets real and maybe I'll be there.
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Johnny, we got something real going on down here. Vacation's over.
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I applaud Father MacVicar! I say this man can preach in
my church. We got a pastor in my church, and he can preach the gospel until you feel the spirit. It doesn't take long. This preacher started me dancin' when I was a boy and I've been dancin' ever since. I will ask this man, the preacher man
of my heart, to step aside temporarily for Father MacVicar. And I want Father MacVicar nearby when it's showtime.
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Comfort for those who fear the arrival of the Chaldeans --
"The Lord hear thee in thy day of trouble. The judgments
of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honey-comb. Some trust in chariots
and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the
Lord our God. Save, Lord: let the king hear us when we
call. Thou shalt make them as a fiery oven in the time
of thine anger: the Lord shall swallow them up in his wrath,
and the fire shall devour them. Psalms 19, 20, 21.
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!thoz kaldeeyns r dasheeng dudez! !they long riderz! !they raze up stryf & contenshn too! abba habbakook one-three. and thrrrr kommin hereta 52nd st., hereta jahneeez.
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We're Americans in this joint, and we gonna take care of any business that walks thru the door. We got The Root, the
powers of The Root, and we got Big Mojo too. Vermilion Babylonian Johnson and the six Chaldeans can evening-wolf
this. And we don't need no rousing sermons from this Father MacVicar either.
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Brothers and sisters, should we fear the Chaldeans, "that
bitter and hasty nation which shall march through the breadth
of the land, to possess the dwelling-places that are not theirs"? Should we run for cover from these "terrible and dreadful" Chaldeans whose "horses also are swifter than the leopards, and are more fierce than the evening wolves ...
and shall fly as the eagle that hasteth to eat"? We know,
brothers and sisters, that these Chaldeans, "shall come
all for violence: their faces shall sup up as the east
wind, and they shall gather the captivity as the sand. And
they shall scoff at the kings, and the princes shall be a
scorn unto them: they shall deride every strong hold; for
they shall heap dust, and take it..." Yet, shall we
fear the Chaldeans? I say, No, brothers and sisters, we
shall not fear them. "Of what value is an idol since
man has carved it? Or a molten image, and a teacher of
lies? For he who maketh it trusts in his own creation; he maketh idols that cannot speak; he maketh dumb idols. Woe unto him who says to wood 'come to life!' or to lifeless stone, 'Wake up!' Can it give guidance? It is covered with gold and silver, ther
is no breath in it. But the Lord in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent for him." (Habakkuk, 1-2). Brothers and sisters, we shall not fear the Chaldeans.
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I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. It's been almost a year, and I've seen only a few decent men in here -- some of the
others may have had their moments -- but now it's one jive-monkey posturer after another. I agree with Risa Tharpe.
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Listen up. One, I got no fear. Two, I got word that Johnny's never comin' back. Three, the women of Egypt, Assyria,
Sumeria, Gad, Judah, and the beach chix of Tyre are all wild for me. All the Ammonite and Hittite broads, too. And now these American tomatos can get a taste of it. Four, I got six Chaldean warriors, and we are swift and powerful. We are the Magnificent Seven of Asia Minor. Five, no Darktown Strutters gonna stand in our way. The Darktown Strutters' eyes will get big and they'll dive for cover when we make our entrance. We're on the way, and that's no jive.
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" . . . for when Aholibah saw men portrayed upon the wall, the images of Chaldeans portrayed with vermilion, girded with girdles upon their loins, exceeding in dyed attire upon their heads after all the manner of the Babylonians of Chaldea
. . . as soon as she saw them with her eyes, she doted upon them and sent messengers unto them into Chaldea. And the Babylonians came to her in the bed of love." Ezekiel 23. 14-17.
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I answer to nobody, Father Mac. Don't hear no scriptures callin' "Rico." And if I did hear the scriptures callin' "Rico," I'd tell them to scripture this.
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Rico Suave: Whether you realize it or not, the scripture has called your name and you have answered.
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So we got a suite up here at Saratoga Springs, this broad and I. Takin' the steam. Takin' the waters. She's at a
crossroads in her life and needs comfort. I'm givin' her
that comfort. So this Gideon Bible here says in the first
line of First Kings, the eleventh chapter, that strange was Solomon's weakness. In black and white. Strange.
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"For Solomon went after Ashtorath the goddess of the Zidonians, and after Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites. And Solomon did evil in the sight of the Lord, and went not fully after the Lord, as did David his father." 1 Kings 11. 5-6.
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You ain't Cab Calloway, slick. Step aside for Dr. Jive.
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Meditation. Candles. Aromatherapy. The proper nutrients. A cleansing. Astral harmony.
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So you're calling me a jive monkey, Risa?
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!neethr wz there ennee such spice az the queena sheeeeeba gave keeeng sallaman! sekknd krannaklz nine-nine.
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Step aside, ladies and gentlemen. Make way. I am heah! And so is my woman, Eadie, who has class with a capital K. Everybody in this joint can step back. I have arrived. Send the first bottle of champagne. And up a little with that volume on the
jukebox.
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Tonight's story begins this way: "And when the Queen of Sheba heard of the fame of Solomon, she came to prove Solomon with hard questions . . . with camels that bare spices and precious stones: and when she was come to Solomon, she communed with
him of all that was in her heart." 2 Chronicles 9. 1.
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Father Mac, I give you the same respect I give Bill Clinton.
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To Mrs. Watson: In answer to your question about Donne's "The Exstasie," I wouldn't limit Donne's meaning to David and Bathsheeba. I have always been a spiritual man, Mrs. Watson,
but I have not always been a priest. At one time this poem
had a very personal meaning to me. To JeanPaul: you said I
was wrong about David. I would like to strengthen your argument before I refute it: "The Lord hath sought him a man after his own heart, and the Lord hath commanded him to be captain of his people," (I Samuel 13). To Rico Suave: Hack? I am a man of
the cloth, son. Show some respect.
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The King of Jive? Everybody in this place is a jive monkey. Everybody. There's no exception to the rule.
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Smoke, you say this King of Jive wants trouble?
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Johnny's gone sap. Somebody gotta go up there and shake him. He's watchin' birds and turnin' into some weatherman. Up in some monastery doin' petty violations and bein' disc jockey to
a valley.
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I'll take the irks. Send them my way. Come on baby, knock me some irks.
Comments:
According to Chekhov, in "The Chick With The Pomeranian,"
. . . every new love, so full of breeze and the carefree, introducing the most delightful of all possible variety
into everyday life, offering itself as a charming
light adventure, inevitably develops among decent people
into a problem of excessive complication leading to an
entirely irksome situation.
Comments:
Johnny, this leader of the Darktown Strutters calls himself Cab Calloway, the King of Jive. They all wear mega-zoots. You gotta get back here. This is a show.
Comments:
Leon, you can take your problem to Brother Alphonse or you can take it to the United Nations.
Comments:
Turn it down, Noir. Do you think this is a college dorm?
Comments:
"The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to the place where he arose . . . All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full: unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again." Ecclesiastes, 1. 5-7.
Comments:
The Last Neanderthal came in here tonight. I wanted Jefferson to meet him. We took him over to a booth and talked to him. YaYa was back in the jungle, doin' the root and dancing. We think there's a place for the
Neanderthal here, and we're gonna tell Johnny to hire
him. This character is energized, and he's got world-class knuckles.
Comments:
Vernal Equinox at 8:46 tonight. Blue moon on the 31st. That doesn't happen very often.
Comments:
I ignore Father Jorge and worship the false idol.
Comments:
Turns out this Father MacVicar is a hack for The Kid.
Comments:
I have just received strange news from the Archdiocese of Havana, Cuba. In the small, poor, seacoast villa of Maconda,
a missionary by the name of Father Jorge was performing a group baptism in the surf when a young man suddenly rose from among the waves. The young man was naked, torn, and bleeding. He was carried to shore unconsious and the village women have dressed his wounds and are caring for him. There is a problem that Father Jorge does not know how to handle: the young man's arrival has changed the villagers. They believe the young man
to be 'El Salvador'. They are busying themselves in preparation for his awakening: preparing a feast, sewing him fine clothes, rehearsing dances for the new Fiesta de Se Despierta and praying by his bedside. The women spend hours staring at his face while
the men build an imposing shrine for him. The villagers are ignoring Father Jorge's preaching for the worship of this false idol.
Comments:
Sign this, Strutters. I got your sign right here.
Comments:
What is Johnnyboy? Some nature-walker lookin for signs
of spring? We city dudes. Sign of spring for us is chix in shorts and thin tops. Sign of spring for us is convertible
wit the top down and some big music pumpin out into the street air. We urban. We no kite-watchers.
Comments:
And Velma/Velocevita, that's why you and Jefferson are history. That's why you can forget it.
Comments:
Jive Bopper, "If I should take a notion/to jump right in the ocean/ain't nobody's bznss what I do." I'm knockin' my kisses to Jefferson, even if he is letting them fly by to the left and to the right. He's duckin them like punches.
Comments:
Velocevita(The Fast Life) -- "I like pie, I hope to die / just get a load of this / when you get high, doggone the pie / Come on baby, knock me a kiss."
