I dont feel sorry for nature. It made the law: survival of the fittest. Might makes right, and if nature cant survive, tough. Soon the squirrels will be ran from our urban paradise like the Indians. Forced to live on little squirrel-sized reservations, they will smoke cheap, tax-free squirrel cigarettes and play rodent bingo.
Laslo came by today. His mind was scattered. I asked him several times how long he had been awake. Avoiding my question, he would change the subject or answer with his own query, why do you ask? The answer I wanted would not come until, during an anecdote, he slipped and mentioned the last time he had slept was 4 days ago.
Laslo likes the speed. Of course after doing it for 10 years, thats not exactly true. He just cant quit. People that dont know him well are unaware of his long lasting problem. They can tell he must be on something, but unlike most perpetrators, Las looks well, healthy. Realizing the importance of substance, this speed freak maintains a steady diet of Slim Fast and V8 to replace the food he cant bring himself to touch.
I have never done speed. I have never done most drugs. I have smoked marijuana, maybe, a total of 20 times in my life: more than the average Catholic Priest, but less than the average soccer mom. The image lives in my head that the first time I ever try speed, my brain will explode, not physically but literally.
Speed Freaks dont really remember details of their binge. They will stay up for days and that time will have shot by with a blurry recognition of what was taking place, but not complete details. Meth creates a fast forward button for life. Monday morning you find yourself thinking, man I wish it was the weekend. So you do some crank, everything speeds up, and next thing you know its Friday. And you kinda got a glimpse of what happened in the space between but, in the end, that time didnt matter, so you went past it. One Thursday evening about 8pm I stopped by Laslos place. He had just bought a roll of pinstripe from an auto detail shop, and was pinstripeing his guitar. We exchanged brief words then I left for the evening. The next day after work, I stopped by Laslos again at 7pm, about 24hours later. He was sitting in almost the same spot pinstripeing his coffee table. In the time frame between visits I had gone on a date, gone to sleep, got up and went to work. But to Laslo he just hit fast forward and it was 24hours later. In that time frame he had used the entire roll of pinstripe and did a very detailed job pinstripeing every thing he owned: his entertainment center, his chair, his couch, his icebox, and his counter top. It was quite impressive.
Brain still scattered Laslo is forgetting the subject every four words then remembering again, He explains that Rock Star Charlie is home from the road and Las wants me to accompany him to Charlies bar.
When the subject of Rock Star Charlie comes up I think of the Power Puff Girls movie. One of his bands songs was blatantly ripped off for the soundtrack. I always tease Chuck about being on the P.P.G. sound track and he always replies, I wouldnt know I wasnt queer enough to sit thru the film. Spice Girls are to credit for putting me in touch with the Girl Power side of me.
Rock Star Charlie is a mechanical artist, at near genius level. This ranking is based on a concept formulated by Laslo, undoubtedly after many days without sleep. My friend Las believes the artistic world is polluted with three types of artists. Mechanical Artists know the theory of art. Tell them to do something and they can do it with ease, but ask them to just sit down and create something and they will ask for direction. The direction comes from Creative Artists. Creative Artists pull ideas out of their head with greater ease than Mechanical Artists, but sometimes find themselves not well-versed in theory. This makes it more difficult for them to produce final product. The third is the Fartist, less artsy more fartsy. As Laslo describes them, they are the untalented pieces of shit that fill the university art classes.
Charlie, the Mechanical Artist, can play anything you ask him to play. I have seen him play along with the radio, un-rehearsed, striking a saw blade with a hammer. And it sounded beautiful. He can get on stage and play any style of music with any musician and fit right in as if he was a member of the band. Yet, despite the fact that he is 26 years old, and his band has put out 3 CDs, Charlie has never written a song. He is not creative. Does not even know where to start.
Ask Laslo where he fits into his paradigm of art and he would say he is an untalented turd clinging to the ass of humanity. This is true today, but not twenty years ago. Back then, Laslo was the most talented of us all. A disciplined drummer, Laslo would practice with all his free time. When he was fifteen he was the coolest kid in town because he played in a band with a bunch of twenty five year olds. They were The Satanic Republicans, and they bought us beer. At fifteen there was nothing cooler than that. But speed effected the rhythm of his life. Laslo punched the fast forward button one two many times. His internal clock is no longer syncopated. He only stresses the weak beats.
Laslo and Charlie speak in loud voices. They drink and tell stories. They eventually go up stairs to do some blow. I go home and write this.
Laslo came by today. His mind was scattered. I asked him several times how long he had been awake. Avoiding my question, he would change the subject or answer with his own query, why do you ask? The answer I wanted would not come until, during an anecdote, he slipped and mentioned the last time he had slept was 4 days ago.
Laslo likes the speed. Of course after doing it for 10 years, thats not exactly true. He just cant quit. People that dont know him well are unaware of his long lasting problem. They can tell he must be on something, but unlike most perpetrators, Las looks well, healthy. Realizing the importance of substance, this speed freak maintains a steady diet of Slim Fast and V8 to replace the food he cant bring himself to touch.
I have never done speed. I have never done most drugs. I have smoked marijuana, maybe, a total of 20 times in my life: more than the average Catholic Priest, but less than the average soccer mom. The image lives in my head that the first time I ever try speed, my brain will explode, not physically but literally.
Speed Freaks dont really remember details of their binge. They will stay up for days and that time will have shot by with a blurry recognition of what was taking place, but not complete details. Meth creates a fast forward button for life. Monday morning you find yourself thinking, man I wish it was the weekend. So you do some crank, everything speeds up, and next thing you know its Friday. And you kinda got a glimpse of what happened in the space between but, in the end, that time didnt matter, so you went past it. One Thursday evening about 8pm I stopped by Laslos place. He had just bought a roll of pinstripe from an auto detail shop, and was pinstripeing his guitar. We exchanged brief words then I left for the evening. The next day after work, I stopped by Laslos again at 7pm, about 24hours later. He was sitting in almost the same spot pinstripeing his coffee table. In the time frame between visits I had gone on a date, gone to sleep, got up and went to work. But to Laslo he just hit fast forward and it was 24hours later. In that time frame he had used the entire roll of pinstripe and did a very detailed job pinstripeing every thing he owned: his entertainment center, his chair, his couch, his icebox, and his counter top. It was quite impressive.
Brain still scattered Laslo is forgetting the subject every four words then remembering again, He explains that Rock Star Charlie is home from the road and Las wants me to accompany him to Charlies bar.
When the subject of Rock Star Charlie comes up I think of the Power Puff Girls movie. One of his bands songs was blatantly ripped off for the soundtrack. I always tease Chuck about being on the P.P.G. sound track and he always replies, I wouldnt know I wasnt queer enough to sit thru the film. Spice Girls are to credit for putting me in touch with the Girl Power side of me.
Rock Star Charlie is a mechanical artist, at near genius level. This ranking is based on a concept formulated by Laslo, undoubtedly after many days without sleep. My friend Las believes the artistic world is polluted with three types of artists. Mechanical Artists know the theory of art. Tell them to do something and they can do it with ease, but ask them to just sit down and create something and they will ask for direction. The direction comes from Creative Artists. Creative Artists pull ideas out of their head with greater ease than Mechanical Artists, but sometimes find themselves not well-versed in theory. This makes it more difficult for them to produce final product. The third is the Fartist, less artsy more fartsy. As Laslo describes them, they are the untalented pieces of shit that fill the university art classes.
Charlie, the Mechanical Artist, can play anything you ask him to play. I have seen him play along with the radio, un-rehearsed, striking a saw blade with a hammer. And it sounded beautiful. He can get on stage and play any style of music with any musician and fit right in as if he was a member of the band. Yet, despite the fact that he is 26 years old, and his band has put out 3 CDs, Charlie has never written a song. He is not creative. Does not even know where to start.
Ask Laslo where he fits into his paradigm of art and he would say he is an untalented turd clinging to the ass of humanity. This is true today, but not twenty years ago. Back then, Laslo was the most talented of us all. A disciplined drummer, Laslo would practice with all his free time. When he was fifteen he was the coolest kid in town because he played in a band with a bunch of twenty five year olds. They were The Satanic Republicans, and they bought us beer. At fifteen there was nothing cooler than that. But speed effected the rhythm of his life. Laslo punched the fast forward button one two many times. His internal clock is no longer syncopated. He only stresses the weak beats.
Laslo and Charlie speak in loud voices. They drink and tell stories. They eventually go up stairs to do some blow. I go home and write this.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
and that comes from me being jealous that I was never beauty-pagent material... so I cover my body with ink and metal art...which I'm learing is so much more beautiful...and fun...