Years ago, I lived in a two story hovel just smack in between the 'nice' neighborhood and what would slowly decline into 'The Hood' were you to travel a bit. Some say the house was haunted. Some say. I found the gateway to Hell, all be it a more personal variety. I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's step back a moment shall we?
As I said, the house had two levels. It was a big white obstruction that blocked the way between the school and the neighbors who neglected their dogs. If you looked carefully you could see hidden in the shadows a strip of nails spiked out along one of the overhanging bits of roof. This was just outside of the room that would one day provide sanctuary for a crackhead.
The lower level was occupied by the landlord and his wife. He happened to be the Sandman on Showtime at the Apollo. You know, the guy who hooks the crappy performers. His wife was a tightly wound bundle of anti-joy and half a set of identical twins. I once overheard the sisters discussing enema experiences through the floor. The Sandman does a "really good impression of Michael Jackson". So I've been told.
This was the year the skyline changed over here by the Big Apple. Life took a swing at me and landed a couple of haymakers right on my soul. Fortunately, I live in a charmed cloud of irony and despair. To clarify, noone I know was in either tower, and noone they know were either, one degree more though and the cumulus glamour wore off. I, however discovered something odd. Happiness. Awareness, however, didn't come until I watched it drift away leaving a shell of me.
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more to come....meanwhile, i put up some more music links to the right and updated my list on the left.
As I said, the house had two levels. It was a big white obstruction that blocked the way between the school and the neighbors who neglected their dogs. If you looked carefully you could see hidden in the shadows a strip of nails spiked out along one of the overhanging bits of roof. This was just outside of the room that would one day provide sanctuary for a crackhead.
The lower level was occupied by the landlord and his wife. He happened to be the Sandman on Showtime at the Apollo. You know, the guy who hooks the crappy performers. His wife was a tightly wound bundle of anti-joy and half a set of identical twins. I once overheard the sisters discussing enema experiences through the floor. The Sandman does a "really good impression of Michael Jackson". So I've been told.
This was the year the skyline changed over here by the Big Apple. Life took a swing at me and landed a couple of haymakers right on my soul. Fortunately, I live in a charmed cloud of irony and despair. To clarify, noone I know was in either tower, and noone they know were either, one degree more though and the cumulus glamour wore off. I, however discovered something odd. Happiness. Awareness, however, didn't come until I watched it drift away leaving a shell of me.
+----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------+
more to come....meanwhile, i put up some more music links to the right and updated my list on the left.
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