True Story
our souls swam over too many cigarettes and we discussed angelic particulars.
“you think somebody somewhere is worrying over the price of gas?”
“it may be expensive.”
“yeah.”
He told me about the William Carlos Williams poem he read a dozen times in a row. I
DUG it. I told him about the far too earnest conversation I had with some chick in a Chicago jazz lounge regarding the current state of liberalism in America and about how we couldn’t go swimming at Venice Beach. It was too polluted. You have to drive up to Malibu, apparently?
It wasn’t too long ago Marty showed up at my place in a suit, London Fog Classic, with a bird on his shoulder and a gun in his pocket. I’m 6’3’’ and he towers over me. He doesn’t blend in. He was delivering gingerbread houses. He said he stayed up all night making them and his car was chock full of the gingerbread houses. The bird’s name was Paco Sanchez. All day long the bird would say “Paul Pierce, don’t play in the house.” “Paul Pierce, don’t play in the house.” They were both out of their minds. A little kid named Bob crushed Paco Sanchez in a door jam. It was a tragic death. My brother accepted the gingerbread house.
Marty went to drop off another gingerbread house. He broke into O’Malley’s apt. early in the morning to drop it off. O’Malley pulled a gun on him. All Marty wanted to do was give him a gingerbread house surprise.
We drove by the sad lights of the carnival yesterday. Marty was playing Johnny Cash. I got lost in the night sky. It was a Zweig moment.
Marty’s moving to Wisconsin on Friday… I'm back at my place now, and I need to go to bed.
“you think somebody somewhere is worrying over the price of gas?”
“it may be expensive.”
“yeah.”
He told me about the William Carlos Williams poem he read a dozen times in a row. I
DUG it. I told him about the far too earnest conversation I had with some chick in a Chicago jazz lounge regarding the current state of liberalism in America and about how we couldn’t go swimming at Venice Beach. It was too polluted. You have to drive up to Malibu, apparently?
It wasn’t too long ago Marty showed up at my place in a suit, London Fog Classic, with a bird on his shoulder and a gun in his pocket. I’m 6’3’’ and he towers over me. He doesn’t blend in. He was delivering gingerbread houses. He said he stayed up all night making them and his car was chock full of the gingerbread houses. The bird’s name was Paco Sanchez. All day long the bird would say “Paul Pierce, don’t play in the house.” “Paul Pierce, don’t play in the house.” They were both out of their minds. A little kid named Bob crushed Paco Sanchez in a door jam. It was a tragic death. My brother accepted the gingerbread house.
Marty went to drop off another gingerbread house. He broke into O’Malley’s apt. early in the morning to drop it off. O’Malley pulled a gun on him. All Marty wanted to do was give him a gingerbread house surprise.
We drove by the sad lights of the carnival yesterday. Marty was playing Johnny Cash. I got lost in the night sky. It was a Zweig moment.
Marty’s moving to Wisconsin on Friday… I'm back at my place now, and I need to go to bed.
posted by ... at 10:18 PM
11 Comments:
This drew me in like that pungent whiff of gingergbread you speak of. I dig the tone of this slice of life a lot. Sounds like you still miss him.
(I signed in under my other blog linked to this comment, but this is still SilvermOOn. Over here I go by "GEL".)
GEL - I see him a couple times a year. We laugh about the stupid trouble we got into when we were younger and wax crazy thoughts. I still don't know what was going on with those gingerbread houses, but I thought it was a funny anecdote, so I posted it.
the parrot's name was really paco sanchez? what a way to die. interesting. i like how you effortless shifted from one train of thought to another. and i'm still thinking about the gingerbread houses. hmmmm.
loved the tone of this post - like loosely woven threads.
ginger bread houses? were there witches in them too?
holy shit u sound like my dead brother.
The gingerbread house part of the story actually happened a few years ago. I'd decided to take a year off between college and law school. Marty wasn't working, but getting insanely high for about 600 days in a row. We hung out almost every day and it was maddeningly entertaining. He's doing fine now. We may cross paths in New Zealand at some point to begin the mother of our adventures.
jon - Glad you liked it, dude.
bismuth - That was his name, but he wasn't a parrot. He was a parakeet or some such bird. Paco Sanchez lived the life of ten men. Marty would get him baked, put him in a purple Crown Royal pouch or on his shoulder and bring him everywhere.
prerona - Loosely woven, indeed. The gingerbread houses were meticulously manufactured. I ripped the door off one and ate it first, no witches to speak of.
icy_highs - I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing. Sorry to hear it.
now that was entertaining. rivetting in fact. bald statement facts burned as prose. flat prose that makes you sit up and nod an affirmation.
gingerbread house and a friend taller than 6'3"? must have have been Marvelman (Miracleman to USA audiences).
wonderful read oh funny sign!
Very nice and interesting read. Different from your other pieces, but still carries with it the smell of strangely familiar settings and words. The gingerbread house seemed a little different to me, as I have never seen one and do not even know what it is. But after all, words are supposed to mean education. Thanks for the lovely read!
Goodluck.
SZ
cocaine jesus - Those names in and of themselves sound hilarious.
If Marvel/Miracleman was a 6'6'' madman, then, yep. Could be.
stormy zephyr - I'd never thought of this post as being for educational purposes, but I won't fight it.
Sleep tight, sweet thing. But wave to the moon before that.
prat - I'll gladly wave to the moon and hug the breeze.
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