In L.A., city of ‘Angels’, without focus or goal. Despite the drawn blinds still trying to ignore the sun pushing through the window.
I’m going home to Nashville tomorrow. I’m going home.
“Vietnam, Vietnam, Vietnam. We’ve all been there.”
My face looks like Rudolph got punched in it. The cold, the sun, the sick. The red marks they all leave behind.
“Life was something you dominated if you were any good.” ~Fitgerald, The Crack Up
“He: I could have been someone
She: Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
He: I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Cant make it all alone
Ive built my dreams around you”
So the time approaches. I will get in that chair, hold that book in my hand, read those words on the page, make eye contact with that one and then that one, shake that hand, bend in half but not break, get on that plane, file off, find the field behind the office building. All I ever was was this.
And of course Amy. There was always Amy.
Reading at Book Soup in West Hollywood at 7 p.m. I’ll be as un-drunk as possible. Or not.