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The Tough Talk - 6.2 |
Casbah LeMoko - 07/11/00 09:39:39
The Heat You Pack? Diamonds, emeralds, a hot .38
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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.
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Floatstill brown and tan dimlight stopmotion.
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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.
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Russian Sturgeon, like this. And another kind of sturgeon.
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They come runnin just as fast as they can. Every girl crazy bout a sharp-dressed man.
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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.
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You heard wrong.
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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.
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We were right in the middle of a big fish fry. (It was rockin'. It was rockin'. You never seen such scufflin' and shufflin' 'til the break of dawn.) We headed for jail in a dazed condition. They booked each one of us
on suspicion. (It was rockin'. It was rockin'. You never seen such scufflin' and shufflin' 'til the break of dawn.) Birdland Street. Take me right back to the track, Jack.
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I can land this monster in your back yard.
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I'm leaving for the life of a big-band canary. "Again . . . this couldn't happen again. What's more . . . this never happened before." Singing it.
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The greatest thing is to be a Dude. Dude.
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Joints come and joints go. It's the law of life.
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"Buzz Buzz Buzz." You can hear it heah on RealPlayah, but first you got to suffer thru "Peggy Sue Got Married." And heah is a big RealPlayah
Jukebox. This couple is dancin' to "Buzz Buzz Buzz".
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Two things. First, Femme Blanc has the right name and must be about 17. Second, this afternoon I got my diagnosis, which is Borderline Personality Disorder, a catchall psychobabble term. This man has no imagination. I just finished doing an on-line search, and find that for most professionals it describes someone with intense narcissism, unstable personal relationships, self-damaging behaviors, yet the ability to succeed at basic life tasks. So this is what I get. Last June he wanted oral sex in his office, and I almost did it. I really came close. Now I'm so glad I didn't.
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It came to me in a dream an hour ago. It's something you feel, not something you have to think about. The one you want is the one you had the most fun with, the one whose company you enjoyed the most, the one with whom time flew, the one who was a delight, the one who wasn't work, the one you looked forward
to seeing every time. The things within you and within him that made it happen are part of your hard wiring and don't really change much over time.
For heaven's sake let's fall in love. It's no mistake to call it love.
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Johnny hasn't paid me for a two months, I haven't seen him for
six weeks, and I quit. Tough Talk connections are blowing out right and left, all across the world. I'm going to let
seven or eight more through and then I'm shutting it all down.
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Maybe you're jealous, Andrea. I'd marry Darva for a year or two.
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I know what he means. They fill the streets and shops and slopes of Aspen, but you can find them everywhere. They have great teeth, French manicures, lots of time at the gym, the coolest sunglasses, usually a tan but not always, maybe a cute car and a dog. The earrings are never too big. They have jobs and they have addresses in apartment buildings, but they're rarely in these apartments, day or night, except when they're between men. The address is part of a veneer-life they create, a place where the parents can send birthday cards, a place to bring out-of-town guests, a place for deep sleep and retreat when they want a break.
They don't talk much about family or where they came from, and they always have a long weekend or a vacation coming up, which they take with the man of the moment. The man is usually divorced, but sometimes he's still married. She wants to be married herself, and if she does get married it lasts maybe a year. Some are smart, some are dumb, most are in-between, but it's always hard for a woman to talk to an Aspen for very long because she's not really there.
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What's an Aspen, Rico?
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Darva's an Aspen. They're all over America. I like them.
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I go to the gym to stay fit and healthy. That's the only reason, Road Man. You're base and cynical.
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Full tank of gas and headed south. I remember Darva from the gym. She was always a good show.
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I'm a millionaire. 11,000 American women signed up for fifty slots on a TV show to marry me. None of them knew who I was, none of them knew I was a king, and none of them had ever even seen me. Many hundreds of thousands of women wanted to enter this contest, but for one reason or another they didn't. A producer told me that if this contest had been held in private, in secret, I could have filled Central Park.
Some Darva.
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The Old Testament KJV is the storybook. It's the best one in the world, greater than all of Shakespeare and Homer and the Grimm Bros. too.
Send your problem, the source of your suffering, to me and I will pray for you. I too have sinned, and I was in prison once -- but that was only for a crime, not for a sin.
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Full moon Sunday night. Vernal equinox at 2:35 a.m. Sunday night/Monday morning. The timing is good this year, and I'll be at the ocean to observe these events.
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In old Japan all the Japs do it. Up in Lapland little Lapps do it.
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No more love stories! What a wretched way to spend a winter. They're all the same. I prefer this mammoth-in-a-block
... anything. And where did these Finns, Greenlanders, Icelanders, and Russians come from? Get them out of here.
It's almost spring.
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Lifted up from the frozen ground, preserved and intact, inside a block of ice and tundra. Flying, spinning slowly beneath the big helicopter, tusks exposed.
The flight of the mammoth. Revered and etched in ancient stone.
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Two-faced Daddy don't hand me no double cross.
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It happened on 52nd Street, Birdland Street.
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I'm reeling from a love battle. I told her that I don't get drunk, but for her that wasn't enough of a defense. I was under attack.
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You must have had a long, dark winter, Bjorn. I believe in love. Love makes all things new. The newer the better. So what if it's one after another, or five at once? So what? You seem like a cynic to me, and a stick in the mud. You need to visualize Mediterranean warmth and sunshine and the thrill of sweet new romance.
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There are only three or four variations on a love story, no matter how unique you think it is. And it ends as one
of three or four cliches -- we grew apart, it wasn't going anywhere, etc. He gets restless, she gets restless, then the cheating, the lies, and the rationalizations for doing both.
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Warm. Sunny. Fast car. Those men are so wrong, Lystrata.
They just don't understand.
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I make lists of the men I see and date and have sex with. I list their attractive qualities and their unattractive qualities. I write descriptions of the things we do, my problems with them, thoughts about them, and things I want to remember. The more names on the list, the better I feel. It's an old habit and I've done it since I was in college. I still have one of these lists from 1982, and I usually carry the current one around with me. It's troublesome, though, if one of them finds it and reads it. He will mistakenly think of himself as an option, a name on a list, and as a way for me to feed my ego and indulge myself, when really I'm just sorting things out. What's wrong with these men?
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Hooking up America state by state, beginning with the eastern seaboard. Massachussetts, New Jersey, Delaware, South Carolina, and Florida now alive and connected to Johnny's Tough Talk. If you live there you can send it.
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I'm dancing in my suit and socking this song, known in French as "La Complainte de Mackie."
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I miss you, Loan Shark, when I am out with people, after work on Friday night, ordering drinks. I think of you when I order drinks.
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Here you hone and fine-tune your instincts.
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KatMandu sounds like a lightfoot weather boy.
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I preached for more than two hours this morning. I preached about Rehoboam. I was preaching in my pleated gabardine pants and more than once I got a hard-on. The man's wife I commit adultery with was in the congregation with her husband, who is a good Christian man. I was on fire for the Lord Jesus Christ.
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Johnny must be on an unannounced vacation. He doesn't come
in much these days, does he? This joint is down in some nap, and the sleepers missed Friday and Saturday, these two warm days which breezed in out of nowhere. The warmed smells of winter were in the air and it was more rare and different than the smell of spring.
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Sometimes you forget. You forget which story you told, or which face it was, and when this happens I wish for no memory. These days I wish more for no memory than for better memory.
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Awake at the wheel, cruising through the Nepal night and sending the tiger to Johnny's Lounge.
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Sleep sleep sleep. How we love to sleep.
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The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact. One sees more devils than vast hell can hold: that
is the madman. The lover, all as frantic, sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt. The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, and
as imagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's pen turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing a habitation and a name.
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I have four Huskies and I like their eyes, which are like a wolf's. They have this look about them.
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That show is a buncha sap music, Technician.
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Look, you people can vague veil this. Stop complaining about not being able to send it. I've told you what you can
do. It's like you got no ears or eyes. I'm taking the
weekend off, and if you got a problem with this idea you can tell it to the Tattooed Preacher. Sleet and some ice outside and I'm
in the mood for a blood-warming drink. "Music from The Stardust Ballroom," this radio show, filling my Ultra Deluxe Surround-Sound Studio Supreme.
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I remember that vague veil.
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"Float thy vague veil over me, lest he see." Francis Thompson.
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The
hound of heaven is the dog.
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Rasmussen is coming over
tonight. The huskies and malamutes bark.
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Hale-Bopp was 1997, the year I first heard In-the-Morning Wanda Earl sing "Love Is What You Can't Control."
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Finn Janna, you say you're a Fosse-dancin' man. You can have Fosse-dancin'. It's yours. Fosse-dancin' is for boys who
are light on on their feet. I dance like five synchronized
Puff Daddies. I dance like James Brown on fire. I dance like Cab Calloway when he's kickin' the gong around. Everybody in Johnny's Lounge and all through the Arctic regions can step back.
Make way!
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I'm against glaciers and ice ages, Eric the Dickhead. Bug-eyed dickhead.
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You need medicine
for the 21st century. You need a computerized assessment,
a head to toe computerized exam which can locate a tumor the size of a pinpoint, and you need a map of your brain. You
need human growth hormone injections, ozone injections to oxidize the brain, folic acid, estrogen and/or testosterone injections, and you must begin with the head. Health begins
in the head. We are against aging, and Nick Nolte is one of
my patients.
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It was foggy and rainy all morning and afternoon. The low, gray February skies of Ireland. Cold and raw. Now it's a rainy, foggy night, steady rain, and my love story is biblical in proportion and plot.
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The story of Jonah is a curiosity. He's a prophet. The Lord orders him to go to Nineveh and denounce its people, but Jonah runs from the job, to Tarshish on a ship, and so the Lord creates a mighty tempest which horrifies the innocent sailors on the ship with Jonah. Jonah feels responsible for their
fate and sacrifices himself to the ocean.
Jonah says what he has to say to get out of the whale after the Lord commits this act of terrorism. He says the
right things but he doesn't follow them. The Lord forces him
to do the job and he's a preaching success story: he converts Nineveh after striking fear into their imaginations, like a terrorist also. The King of Nineveh takes off his robes.
He dons sackcloth and sits in ashes. But it doesn't mean anything to Jonah. Not only that, but he's insolent toward
the Lord and has a bad attitude. He talks to the Lord like a prisoner talks to the warden. Jonah has more nuance than the Lord and he also talks down to the Lord, but the Lord has more raw power. And Jonah thinks the Lord should go ahead and
smite Ninevah. He wants the Lord to do it anyway.
I don't have a confessional, but I give better counsel
and spiritual comfort than this mackeral-snapper Father MacVee.
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A man who has never had the smoke is a man I have no interest
in knowing. Finn Janna you must realize, when your heart's on fire, smoke gets in your eyes. And when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes. It gets you coming and going.
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I'm getting through from Singapore, from our room at the
Raffles (breezy verandas, tropical gardens, jasmine). It
looks like Film Noir Johnny's Tough Talk is now for tourists. It has a Greenland Chamber of Commerce feel these days.
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Look, I'm working on it at my own pace, not yours. I'm taking no more correspondence from any of you people. Tell it to this Father MacVee in his winter mission.
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This Jonah is a fainting man.
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So Jonah went out of the city, and sat on the east side of
the city, and there made him a booth, and sat under it in the shadow, till he might see what would become of the city.
And the LORD God prepared a gourd, and made it to come up
over Jonah, that it might be a shadow over his head, to
deliver him from his grief. So Jonah was exceedingly glad
of the gourd.
And it came to pass, when the sun did arise, that God prepared
a vehement east wind; and the sun beat upon the head of Jonah, that he fainted, and wished in himself to die . . . And God
said unto Jonah, Doest thou well to be angry for the gourd?
And he said, I do well to be angry, even unto death. Jonah 4,
5-6, 8.
The door to my confessional is always open.
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For many years I loved a man named Rasmussen. Sometimes he
was a cruel lover, but I will confess that I liked most of
the things he did to me in the heat of the moment. His lips
set my soul on fire. In the mornings when he was not there,
I would wake up thinking about these things.
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You're a sap and a fool, Kveldulf. Whatta dimwit. I'm a
Fosse-dancin' man packin' heat, and you're some dime-a-dozen office chump who lets the smoke get in his eyes and goes
blind. Then when it's over you analyze it and decide that
both of you could have done better. You're a lily.
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My story began three years ago and ended last month. She
isn't married. We met at the office, one thing led to
another, and the sex began. In her office and in mine too. Other places. We found lots of places and we spent weekends together, off and on. I was married, but I preferred her
to my wife in all ways. We enjoyed each other's company
and brought love light to each other's eyes. We couldn't
help it. It was real. Then it went wrong and we're both to blame.
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A meditation and love story from my winter mission and ministry in Salvador:
Now the word of the LORD came unto Jonah the son of Amittai saying, Arise, go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry against it; for their wickedness has come up before me. But Jonah rose up to flee unto Tarshish from the presence of the LORD.
. . . Now the LORD had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.
Then Jonah prayed unto the LORD his God out of the fish's belly. "For Thou hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the cold seas; and the floods compassed me about: all thy billows and thy waves passed over me . . . The waters
compassed me about, even to the soul: the depths closed me
round about, the weeds were wrapped about my head . . . When
my soul fainted within me I remembered the LORD . . . They
that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy."
Jonah
1, 1-3, 17. 2, 1-8.
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I got your Thule rite here, Bjorn. You can
Wildlife-of-Greenland this.
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The birds of Ultima Thule, the musk oxen of Kangerlussuaq,
and Narsaq Foto.
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No letters, no faxes. I already told you what you can do and one place where you can do it.
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It happened on the night train to Tallinn, and it began as we were crossing into Estonia from the southeast.
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My love story is going on now. The kisses take me to Shangri-La.
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This one will be brief, Asgerd. I once loved Egil Skallagrimsson. He was a rune-man and a traveling man, but love made me blind. When I could see,
I saw a berserker.
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Prince Valiant was in Iceland last adventure. The Last Neandertal died helping him outta this big jam he got in, too. You shoulda seen it.
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Tell your love story.
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Hot springs and the story.
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Lithuanians and Lats do it.
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Porto from Portugal and candles.
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Sweetness. Bring on the sweetness of winter life.
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Look, stop calling to complain. If you don't like it you can fly to one of those countries like Greenland and send it to Johnny all night long.
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Americans are trashy, vulgar, and loud. This photo says it all. No nuance.
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SYSTEM STATUS REPORT -- FILM NOIR JOHNNY'S TOUGH TALK. Reconnections have been established with Southeast Asia, Indonesia, Australia, Central America, Greenland, Iceland,
all Scandinavian countries including the Baltic states,
and sub-Saharan Africa. Regions still down: North America, South America, most of Europe, North Africa, all of Russia
and those republics formerly making up the Soviet Union.
Please do not telephone, and this means
you. It especially means Dr. Georges Schadron, Vicious
Styles, FinDeK, Shanghai Lily, Barahona Trouble, RicoSuave,
Road Man, Tres Hombres Babbas, Ellen_Stewart, Milonguero, HepKittenJazzChick, Risa Tharpe, Big Wada Cash, slkysstr,
Osama bin Laden, Sleepy/Lazy, Katarina Baader, The Holy
Man of Uzbekistan, Reefer Girl, Casbah LeMoko, Honeygirl,
Hassan Habib Salah, Secret Addiction, and Cudjoe Key Dude.
You will be notified the moment we are up again in your part
of the world.
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Cold war. Cold shoulder. Cold sweat.
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XXXXXXX. More red.
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XXXXXXXXX. Red.
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The short-out's all over GeoCity. GeoCity shorted out.
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XXXXXXXX. Take the cover off. Grip the handle and turn the wheel. Maybe that will fix it.
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XXXXXXXXX. Mystery short. Got a mystery short somewhere. "Five Greyhounds" looks like one of last year's bad Xmas cards.
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XXXXXXX. Tough Talk buried under snow and ice. Power out. Snowplows scraping. Salt flying. Cars sliding and spinning and crashing out on 52nd St., Birdland Street.
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XXXXXXXXX.
Five greyhounds.
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XXXXXXX
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Fuses blowing out. Each new entry blows out the previous
entry. Tough Talk Technician got no TeknoSavvy. Shutting down the Tough Talk now.
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As several have noticed, Johnny's has become a congregation of fools and saps.
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Mongollis Khan, Dude!
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Yr a sap, Khan.
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It must be winter. You people need some light and warmth, internal and external. Why don't you dance, or get on a
horse, or take a chance, call somebody, sit down in
a place with windows and a view, break out a bottle of champagne, and confess your love?
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Because many people are troubled and want to feel better, because psychological torment can be much more problematic
than physical injury or disease, and because we need to understand the causes of mental anguish if we are going to improve the quality of our
daily lives. To answer your first question, some of
these behaviors are criminal or simply anti-social; others
are associated with self-destruction, depression, anxiety,
obsession, compulsion, endorphin-overload dependency (EOD), social manias, chronic escapism, withdrawal, narcissism,
and addiction.
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I'm skeptical, Georges Schadron. What do you mean by "troublesome adult behaviors"? Why not just say it's a crazy world full of crazy people (including you and me) and be done with it?
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Phase One of my research on Pathfix Place Formation has been completed. It focuses on the imprints made by the geography
of our homes and neighborhoods during childhood and adolescence, those pathways we walk over and over again during our formative years and which form the backdrop and setting for many of our dreams throughout life. Phase Two will focus on the more
abstract subjects of spiritual and psychological rootlessness, and on the extent to which troublesome adult behaviors and problems of identity can be traced to the anxieties created by
an unformed, interrupted, or traumatically altered sense of place.
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Are you asking about Johnny's, Bent? As his lawyer, I'd say it's about making a living and staying out of prison.
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I know how you feel, Philosophical Bent. I'd say it's
about enjoying life with someone you love.
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What's it all about, Lanalula? Somebody tell me.
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The next thing. It's on to the next thing. It's a Sunday afternoon in January.
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Lapis lazuli and amber and sterling look good together by lamp light, at eye level from the prone position. This heavy cuff I found on my tray last month.
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I got the January Limbourg Bros. lapis lazuli blues. Roots
not working.
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"December" looks like something I saw in Central Park three weeks ago.
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Azur d'outreme et vert de flambe. First,
January. Last,
December.
