So, today started off normal and ended up rather surreal. Got a draft contract coming in the mail from publishers, and if terms are agreed to and signatures are put to the paper, my first research advance will arrive next week and I'll suddenly be a pro. Yeah, I know.
For some reason tonight I'm not in the mood, so this will be brief. I guess things are looking up a little, but you know as well as me, demons, that if anyone can blow a gilt-edged opportunity it is me. I've blown more important things in my life recently than a writing contract.
My motto has got to be "Always innovating, never imitating". If anyone can pull that off, let's all hope its me. I wish the optimist hadn't died inside of me, or that one day he comes back. I suspect, however, it is a lot like love: not gunna happen again. If only you knew.
I want to taste the salt of your skin.
I'll say adieu tonight with a long quote from HST. The man never fails to hit the mark. If I can manage it even a fraction as often as he did, maybe I'll do alright in this writing business.
Saturday night in Aspen and the road out of town is empty in both directions. The only things moving on Main Street are me and one slow-rolling cop car. No people on the street, no local traffic. I wave to him, as I normally do, but he ignores me & picks up his radio squealer, probably to run my plate and maybe get some action... I can see him back there, in my mirror, and I instinctively make a right turn & speed up, gripping the wheel with both hands and hearing a sudden roar of music all around me. It is "Walk on the Wild Side." Ah yes:
'"Candy came from out on the Island
In the back room she was everybody's darlin',
But she never lost her head
Even when she was givin' head,
She says, Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side
Said, Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side,
And the coloured girls go -
Doo, do doo, do doo, do do do..."
Right. And thank you, Lou Reed, for that one. You bet. Every once in a while, but not often, you can sit down and write a thing that you know is going to stand people's hair on end for the rest of their lives - a perfect memory of some kind, like a vision, and you can see the words rolling out of your fingers and bouncing around for a while like wild little jewels before they finally roll into place & line up just exactly like you wanted them to... Wow! Look at that shit! Who wrote that stuff?
What? Me? Hot Damn! Let us rumble, keep going, and don't slow down - whatever it is, keep doing it. Let's have a little Fun.
Even writing feels like fun when you catch a moment like this. You feel Pure and natural - Yes sir, I am a Natural Man tonight. Bring it on. Fuck those people. Tonight we walk with the King... That is My kind of fun, and I like to spread it around. You can't hoard fun. It has no shelf life.
And so much for that, eh? I started off writing about Aspen, but I wandered off into the definition of Fun, which is always dangerous. So, to hell with Fun. I shit on the chest of Fun. Look what it did to Charles Manson. He had Too much fun - no doubt about that - so they put him away for life. He was a Monster, and he still is. Put him Down. Shove him off the Bridge with a wire around his neck and bowling balls chained to his feet. Drown the bastard. What if it was your daughter he got hold of?
What indeed? I have no daughters, thank God, so I don't have to worry about it. I have always loved women of all ages, but they have always been Other people's daughters. If I had a daughter and she came home with a creature like Manson, my heart would fill with Hate. I would not kill him instantly, but my brain would start moving that way - Okay, how do we do this, without being busted for Murder?
First, get rid of the Witness. Send her upstairs to her room and make sure nobody else is around. That is a basic Rule in this business... The next step is to grab a loaded shotgun off the wall and lure him into the kitchen by stomping heavily on the floor & screaming crazily while you dial up 911. That will put your situation on the Record.
Keep screaming, "Get away from me, Charley! Don't come any closer!" until he comes running into the room with wild eyes & you can blast him in the chest with both barrels... Do not miss, or things will turn queer in a hurry. Make sure he's stone dead when he drops, because you will not get another chance. He will be on you with a butcher knife... But if you do it Right, you will be hailed as a Hero, and yr. daughter will think long & hard before she comes home with another creep like Manson.
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