Euphoric Fatigue (euphoricfatigue) wrote,
Euphoric Fatigue
euphoricfatigue

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feeling a little ny-ish

i woke up again this morning with the sun in my eyes
when mike came over with a script surprise
a mafiosa story with a twist
a too wong foo julie newmar hitch
get your ass out of bed, he said
i'll explain on the way

but we did nothing absolutely nothing that day and i say
what the hell am i doing drinking in l.a. at 26
i got the fever for the flavor, the payback will be later, still i need a fix

it's been a little more than funny how many times i have thought that i was doing the right thing, when ultimately, it was the worst possible thing i could have ever, ever done. mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. big friggin' mistakes.

i think i have been too nice to people who really weren't worthy of being nice to. i have been foolish, and impetuous, and irresponsible.

i have been kind to people even though i will never ever see them again. i hope they have a pleasant journey.

i woke up again this morning with the sun in my eyes
when mike came over with a script surprise
a mafiosa story with a twist
a too wong foo julie newmar hitch
get your ass out of bed, he said
i'll explain on the way

but we did nothing absolutely nothing that day and i say
what the hell am i doing drinking in l.a. at 26
i got the fever for the flavor, the payback will be later, still i need a fix

and i went down to the village, and sat outside and drank coffee, and i looked at the people passing by. i thought about brad and about how many things i could have said and didn't. and i felt a loss. i felt like i was lost and i would never be found, and i guess i felt kind of gloomy. so i went to ps127 and stood around watching the kids, and it cheered me up some. and then i walked over to bowery and gave a guy 5 bucks, and he looked at me like i was from mars.

so i walked over to leroy st. to the studio, and i painted a little. and i was playing the music pretty loud, and there was some noise in the background, outside of my door. but nobody screamed, and the police didn't come with lights and sirens, so i figued everything was fine.

i made some coffee, and jimmy knocked on my door. i asked where he had been. he blushed, and looked down, and he told me staying out of trouble. he thanked me for the coffee, and he went on his way, down the hall, tipping his baseball cap at me, walking, taking big long strides on little short legs, towards the bright sunshine, walking into the light, at the end of the hall, steering his bike along side of himself. the sunlight on his head shimmering on his dark hair, made a halo behind.

later that day, there was another knock on the door. i was bopping around, feeling pretty good, looking forward to the next day, when i was going somewhere with my honey. when i went to the door, through the door, i asked who it was, and a man said, "maintenance".

i open the door, and there is a man standing in front of me, pointing a handgun. a fucking big piece of blackish gun. straight towards my head. i think my head. "police, ma'am, freeze" fuck me. so i squeek and drop what i had in my hands, and it made a racket. and another man, this one in uniform comes around the corner. he asked if i had been there all day. well, yeah. since about 10 am. before you stiffs showed up and scared me to death.

he asked if there was anything i recalled about noise in the hallway. i said, well, sure, the boiler people were here to fix it. they had to break the door in, because old mrs. antonucci was complaining she was cold.

and their guns were still drawn.

do you know a jimmy __X? well, yeah, i do. he comes down for coffee sometimes, because i have a grinder and this machine... this antique thing here, see? i got it from the market down at st. marks. they had to get a truck to bring it here. he lives upstairs, and leaves his bike outside my door here, because i have the rack, see? he locks it up there. it's how he gets to work. do you know where jimmy works, ma'am? well, he works for his uncle vito up in hell's kitchen. he delivers stuff for him to people who don't go out. he brings them their papers and milk, and sometimes he goes with stuff from the butcher.

did you know jimmy was a knuckle breaker for the mob? well, the thought occured to me, when he was standing around telling me about the kids beating him up on the way home from school. that day his aunt died. he came down and drank his coffee with me. he was a little guy... about 5'6. scrawny. he looked about 17 but he was 30 at the time.

and their guns were still drawn
.
he told me about his mom, and about his dad, who lived in the building there where my studio is. jimmy was born in the bedroom there. his grandmother delivered him. jimmy's mom used to call for him from an open window... "JIMMY" "JIMMY" "JIMMY WHERE ARE YOU"? and he would call up and answer her "MOM, I'LL BE UP IN A MINUTE"

i never saw her outside the building. i would see his dad from time to time... he would sometimes bring me a newspaper clipping about something. and i would see him waiting on the platform too.

so if he broke knuckles, maybe they deserved it. maybe they broke HIS knuckles when he was little. maybe someone was gonna break his knuckles or his knees if he didn't do something.

so then i was feeling a little claustrophobic. i told the police i needed some air. so i went out to the street, towards carmine st. and there, in front of our lady of pompeii, right in front of the church, was a circle of cops surrounding jimmy on his bike. they had their clubs out. what was he gonna do? run them over with his bike? were they gonna crucify them?

and i walked past. i looked jimmy in the eye. he looked scared. he was shaking. and he looked even younger than he usually did. and i wondered if his mom was watching from the window.

so i decided to take the subway to coney island. it was friggin' cold and damp, and it had gotten cloudy. it felt like snow. and i sat and shivered on the train.it seemed to take all day. and i was thinking about jimmy, and tears ran down my face, and i was playing a bob dylan cassette, and that lay, lady, lay.... and then i got off the train and walked down on the sand... and i took a roll of pics, and i drew some in my sketchpad. i drew a soda can on the shoreline. there were some rocks around it, and it looked rusty, although it was probably some slimey mold stuff.

and i went back on the train, to my neighborhood. i walked down to houston and back up to my building. i was freezing, and shaking from the cold i think, and my face was wind burned from coney island. red cheeks, and cold. and i saw my boyfriend. and he asked me what happened. i didn't say anything but i said the police took jimmy and i started to cry again. and then he dried my tears, and we made love. and then i took him out to drink at cb's and some bath house place in the village, and then we went to z bar on avenue a, so he could drink his favorite scotch and beer.

and i stared at their airbrushed walls, and at their jagermeister posters, and i wished i was back in massachusetts, and it was summer and i was at good harbor beach. i envisioned the walk from shore to the rock, and i remembered the way the light played on low tide water in late june.

and he touched my elbow and asked if i wanted to go, and i looked at him, into his dark eyes, and answered i have never wanted to go somewhere else so badly in my lfe.

so we left.

i woke up again this morning with the sun in my eyes
when mike came over with a script surprise
a mafiosa story with a twist
a too wong foo julie newmar hitch
get your ass out of bed, he said
i'll explain on the way

but we did nothing absolutely nothing that day and i say
what the hell am i doing drinking in l.a. at 26
i got the fever for the flavor, the payback will be later, still i need a fix

but we did nothing absolutely nothing that day and i say
what the hell am i doing drinking in l.a. at 26
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