The immediacy of imperfection is always recognizable....
The realization that we all are, isn’t.
I was slapped in the face this morning by a bag of shit in overalls. Our paper bag full of feces manifested itself in the form of a bearded fellow in blue overalls. Scraggly and dirty he looked like Will Oldham, if Will Oldham was actually sincere about who he might be. Shitty was sitting, legs sprawled out, head back against the window, between two stores in the shopping center: The Owls Nest, a new-age hippy fuck fest of a store and, appropriately given his state, a childrens hair-cuttery named short cuts.
‘Fuck’ I thought ‘just don’t ask me for a goddamn dollar, it’s not that I’d give you the fucking dollar, or even that I feel bad saying no, it’s that I have to open my son-of-a-bitch or a mouth to speak to anyone - much less someone who smells of cat urine - already this morning.’
Alas, my worries were ill found, Mr. Shitty was deep into conversation, with himself.
‘HEH!’ he spewed, with that half laugh guttural sound that only comes when someone is in disbelief, ‘well I’d say that...sure...what, and why can’t we just do it?’ ‘DO IT!!!!?’
Now he’s taken to smiling and his voice is raised a notch, I’m full on staring at the poor bastard (laterally) and he takes no notice of me. At this point I realize that he’s not merely drunk, as at least drunk people by this time would ask to either fight or make out, full on psychopath.
Shit-ball then starts to laugh so hard he sort of topples to the side, slaps the ground with his hand then bangs the back of his head into the window. Arms splayed out like some sort of retarded Angel - ‘So why anyway...huh..no, WHY, heh....HEH! Sure, sure he said that....AHAHA!’
Noww I’m like any other human being on this earth, I feel bad for the ignorant - poor - disheveled - ugly - psychotic masses, so long as they don’t slow down my production for the day, and even more so when I feel the need to refer to someone as: ‘bag of shit’ ‘Mr. Shitty’ or ‘Shit ball’. But here is the fucked up thing, I felt some envy for him. I mean shit, this motherfucker could sit on some sidewalk in Frederick fucking Maryland and have a fuck of a time, with no one around. I can barely entertain myself with the TV on, music playing, dick in hand, with a crowd full of people around, and this son-of-bitch is rolling over in laughter.
Of course the perils of the vagrant go beyond smelling of piss and vinegar, as I type this the police have come. The man flees into the woods, police in hot pursuit, but not wanting to leave the coziness of their African-American-Chasing-Mobile they decide to turn scarecrow and sit in the parking lot enjoying the last bits of Dunkin’ Doughnuts and seaman smoothie from the morning stop.
I was slapped in the face this morning by a bag of shit in overalls. Our paper bag full of feces manifested itself in the form of a bearded fellow in blue overalls. Scraggly and dirty he looked like Will Oldham, if Will Oldham was actually sincere about who he might be. Shitty was sitting, legs sprawled out, head back against the window, between two stores in the shopping center: The Owls Nest, a new-age hippy fuck fest of a store and, appropriately given his state, a childrens hair-cuttery named short cuts.
‘Fuck’ I thought ‘just don’t ask me for a goddamn dollar, it’s not that I’d give you the fucking dollar, or even that I feel bad saying no, it’s that I have to open my son-of-a-bitch or a mouth to speak to anyone - much less someone who smells of cat urine - already this morning.’
Alas, my worries were ill found, Mr. Shitty was deep into conversation, with himself.
‘HEH!’ he spewed, with that half laugh guttural sound that only comes when someone is in disbelief, ‘well I’d say that...sure...what, and why can’t we just do it?’ ‘DO IT!!!!?’
Now he’s taken to smiling and his voice is raised a notch, I’m full on staring at the poor bastard (laterally) and he takes no notice of me. At this point I realize that he’s not merely drunk, as at least drunk people by this time would ask to either fight or make out, full on psychopath.
Shit-ball then starts to laugh so hard he sort of topples to the side, slaps the ground with his hand then bangs the back of his head into the window. Arms splayed out like some sort of retarded Angel - ‘So why anyway...huh..no, WHY, heh....HEH! Sure, sure he said that....AHAHA!’
Noww I’m like any other human being on this earth, I feel bad for the ignorant - poor - disheveled - ugly - psychotic masses, so long as they don’t slow down my production for the day, and even more so when I feel the need to refer to someone as: ‘bag of shit’ ‘Mr. Shitty’ or ‘Shit ball’. But here is the fucked up thing, I felt some envy for him. I mean shit, this motherfucker could sit on some sidewalk in Frederick fucking Maryland and have a fuck of a time, with no one around. I can barely entertain myself with the TV on, music playing, dick in hand, with a crowd full of people around, and this son-of-bitch is rolling over in laughter.
Of course the perils of the vagrant go beyond smelling of piss and vinegar, as I type this the police have come. The man flees into the woods, police in hot pursuit, but not wanting to leave the coziness of their African-American-Chasing-Mobile they decide to turn scarecrow and sit in the parking lot enjoying the last bits of Dunkin’ Doughnuts and seaman smoothie from the morning stop.
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