How I became a Hindu
Its been a long time since Ive posted anything with regards to the saga of my life. Chances are no one has noticed. What has happened since is fairly irrelevant. All you need to know is that I was arrested two months ago and Ive been hitting the scotch hard and have recently taken up cigar smoking as a physical exercise. (It beats the hell out of running.) Caldwell is responsible for this. He had a job in the Dominican Republic and befriended some dude in some bodega by the name of Israel Gonzales. A Hispanic Jew. Who woulda knew. And who cares. The mans a fantastic cigar maker and he grows all of his own tobacco. The two of us, Caldwell and I, have been living off a steady diet of Rum, Cigars, and Rice and Beans with fried plantain. I now shit like a horse in August. Hector is nonplussed with the stench and is still inexplicably afraid of eviction. Me? I dont really care since Im drunk most of the time and ranting incoherently about girls with tattoos and how Im in love. Of course I have no recollection of this. I'd really like to meet this girl that I'm supposedly, "in love" with. As for the boozing I have no excuse except for current affairs. The truth is, that the war is seldom covered in the papers anymore and as a consequence, weighs heavily upon us like a bloat carcass. The listless flatulent economy has soiled our hopes of any dream except escape. This we find in drugs and alcohol, and when we're lucky anonymous and gratuitous sex. (Puerile, I know, but I've never professed to be mature.)
Saturday Caldwell got all teary-eyed while recalling the 90s and spoke of genetically modified foods and the demise of humanity. I told him to shut the fuck up and smoke his cigar. It was, Charles Simic who wrote:
If the wicked didnt get such kicks
Out of doing evil, ladies,
These cherries would taste even sweeter,
Plato and Emerson would suffice,
And the sight of Miss Angela
Soaping her breasts in the cold lake
Would be all we need of paradise.
this was from, Grim Contingencies. He asked me what I meant by this. I said, stop being such a pussy before I bitch slap you with a parrot. He shot me in the face with his bb gun. Dead center in the forehead. I now look like one of those Hindu girls with the red dot. The point I was trying to make was... Ah f**k it. I dont even remember. If only I had a parrot.
Peace.
Its been a long time since Ive posted anything with regards to the saga of my life. Chances are no one has noticed. What has happened since is fairly irrelevant. All you need to know is that I was arrested two months ago and Ive been hitting the scotch hard and have recently taken up cigar smoking as a physical exercise. (It beats the hell out of running.) Caldwell is responsible for this. He had a job in the Dominican Republic and befriended some dude in some bodega by the name of Israel Gonzales. A Hispanic Jew. Who woulda knew. And who cares. The mans a fantastic cigar maker and he grows all of his own tobacco. The two of us, Caldwell and I, have been living off a steady diet of Rum, Cigars, and Rice and Beans with fried plantain. I now shit like a horse in August. Hector is nonplussed with the stench and is still inexplicably afraid of eviction. Me? I dont really care since Im drunk most of the time and ranting incoherently about girls with tattoos and how Im in love. Of course I have no recollection of this. I'd really like to meet this girl that I'm supposedly, "in love" with. As for the boozing I have no excuse except for current affairs. The truth is, that the war is seldom covered in the papers anymore and as a consequence, weighs heavily upon us like a bloat carcass. The listless flatulent economy has soiled our hopes of any dream except escape. This we find in drugs and alcohol, and when we're lucky anonymous and gratuitous sex. (Puerile, I know, but I've never professed to be mature.)
Saturday Caldwell got all teary-eyed while recalling the 90s and spoke of genetically modified foods and the demise of humanity. I told him to shut the fuck up and smoke his cigar. It was, Charles Simic who wrote:
If the wicked didnt get such kicks
Out of doing evil, ladies,
These cherries would taste even sweeter,
Plato and Emerson would suffice,
And the sight of Miss Angela
Soaping her breasts in the cold lake
Would be all we need of paradise.
this was from, Grim Contingencies. He asked me what I meant by this. I said, stop being such a pussy before I bitch slap you with a parrot. He shot me in the face with his bb gun. Dead center in the forehead. I now look like one of those Hindu girls with the red dot. The point I was trying to make was... Ah f**k it. I dont even remember. If only I had a parrot.
Peace.