Wednesday, July 7, 2010

They call it the High Life: the Champagne of Middle Roads

It’s that part in the movie where the curtain drops and Mel Gibson walks out and sits down on a stool salvaged from a 15th cent. clipper ship. Mel Brooks follows him on and begins giving him a neck massage, a shoulder massage, whispering sweet Hebraic nothings into his ear, clearing his throat, remembering his gorilla mask, a mask from childhood, perhaps, his or another's, remembering his pot roast, this or another. There is a lizard sitting near by, lounging, talking like Sam Spade on a bender, drinking gin and preying on dames. A smoke machine turns on. Then off. Then on again, only this time in purple. The crowd slowly dissipates. Credits. An easter egg teaser. Funny. I get up. A ghost in the machine.


You work all day, clouded in the unreliability of the times, the changing nature of a desperate age growing desperate, growing sad and you think, hmm. I think, hmm. I'm getting paid, I'm doing a good job. It's hard to find good help these days. Etc. &c.

I want to get back into painting. I miss playing my bass. In fact, I think I'll go get that out now.

Do you remember Steve Guttenberg from Police Academy? Yeah, that was funny. I like things sometimes. I've thought about becoming an officer of the law. From time to time. I always think better of it. I think I'll go pick up that bass now.

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