Spent & Raddled
Blackout… Tom Sawyer and William Still put me right to sleep. I sift through the warm, heavy sands of the clouds in this soft bed of dreaminess, ethereal moulding and slow, easy eyes… slumber, slumber, sound asleep… I can not slumber. I feel comfortable. But I am depressed. If I could I would put on a suit and go get drunk in the city with the rest of them. But I can’t do such a thing because I would get sick and cry out in some kind of horrible pain. So I stay in, at this estate I am restoring called The Cedars, the valley’s oldest estate – and I stare out the window for days, drinking soda water, wrestling with perfect, meaningless, rebellious misery. With heavy hands like these, it is hard to be poetic… I can hardly keep my eyes awake, but I am desperate not to lose touch yet – I feel I am close to something good tonight. I feel God must give me another chance yet, before he forsakes me. I know it is in him to give me a few more chances. I could get one right now. I could get a bright idea. I could see a sign. I think about going to the gas station where one of the girls I know works and asking her to come over after her shift ends. But I do not think she is working this late at night. She’s a very cute girl and she must be hit on all day long by country boys. I am not a country boy. I am not tough. All of the white girls in this valley are dating country boys and all of the black girls are dating thug boys, all of whom act tough. Well, sometimes I try to act tough, but I am not really tough. I am sympathetic. And there is no room in these things for a sympathetic man like me, unless I am stupidly famous and handsome, like old Monty Clift. Don’t get me started about Montgomery Clift again… have you heard what he said about Brando?