Close your eyes. Snap! And By fat boys, I mean the townies, the posers, the lame ducks of my sad and pathetic generation, the dollar bill dreamers. Start with laughter, I’m only a writer. And wasnt that romantic, what a picture that was, I was leaving and taking shots of whiskey and shots of the digital variety of the time that I got the boot. Everything was cool man, and I never thought about how any of this would play out. Just thought that typewriter looked dam good on that dirty floor and now I could get out there. I didn’t have any thing holding me back now, nope , not a girl, not a place, nothing but those ghosts man, the memories and sounds of the thoughts of the past, ghosts that reminded me of cold sex during the the end of January, and I wasnt expecting these remainders of my old life to hold on to me as much as they have, but I don’t wait for the sadness to go away, I just invite it along for the trip. I already know that life is just a false sense of controlling a shadow that will never be remembered, and laugh it up man because I was looking at that typewriter and thinking about how real this was, better than a movie, better that any novel ive ever read, and I thought people would dig what I was throwing down, the writer man, because he was on his way, he was going out there, to whatever staged performance would have em, but nobody thought it was cool man, they said where you going now, whats’ the plan? What, never mind I said and forgot about them and them and you and them, and I didn’t have a clue man, that’s what these words and dreams were for, and so I thought that I would get a book published and when I did I said that’s it, and I thought it should be much larger than this sum of money because everyone wants to get rich off me, and if I’m poor, and see I told you, because right on cue here come the savages, and I’ve written two really good books but I don’t have the know how or the interest in talking to those with literary kinds of money because they’re as lost as lost can be, all failed stock brokers, and I don’t get along with the gumps and the swine who will toss me their money so they can get hypothetically rich. I’m the fucking wolf , what don’t you get? Don’t tempt me with your games of the night. I get bored, and my insecurities, fake, all made up, all part of the act to lure the middle class dreamers into a false sense of superiority, and why, just for a laugh man, and trust me, it’s never as good as I think it will be, and it’s actually really sad, as sad as the man I’ve become, and what happened, I’m asking you, because man there aren’t even hustlers anymore, gangsters, just children with dreams of american sluts. I mean ive been solicited in the past month to sell my soul of a writing soul to the hounds and the fat boys of the bar stools and the firms of the academic breeding machine. ive been representing the punk rock philosophers and yelling “you aint no Hemingway” at people and representing the writer, and not the book, but the writer to people who havent met one in so long. I’m a throwback to the days when football players didn’t wear helmets, when the writer would save your life or fuck your wife, and then make you both eggs in the morning, and ha, one night this big boy wanted me to write his story, what you got I said, well I don’t want you to steal it, im crazy I said, ill write it for you, you see how I roll he said pulling out a ton of bills, I don’t give a fuck or one single care how you roll I said, lets write this down, we can start tomorrow, I’m serious I said, I know you’re not serious about anything, if you are, let’s get on with it tomorrow before you get too out there on your money trails. What. Nothing. Tomorrow. I can’t tomorrow he said, why not, you said that you had some shit to write, because man i have to work, ok, so what do you do I said, im a bartender he said, oh I see i said and he put away his wad of bills. I laughed and looked around the room, never talked to this fat boy again.
And these are the people who I have to deal with everyday. They want nothing more in life than to have a girl that they think they’re better than. It’s just sad man, because in the past I usually get the girl, that is, if I even care to notice or try to look like I care which I don’t anymore, and usually that’s all I see, girls, girls in their mid twenties to early thirties and hell who knows maybe even older. I’m sick of girls, let the fat boys have them all, I’m hanging out waiting for the women, that is, if they even exist anymore. Like I said, be Cool brothers and sisters. I’m just a writer. This never even happened. Snap!