Thursday, August 16, 2007
You Should Write A Story
Once an acquaintance told me that he was having sex with Hitler's great grand-niece and couldn't continue because if birth control failed, he'd be responsible for a relation of Hitler being born. I didn't fully believe him (how in the devil had he happened upon Hitler's kin in west Texas?), but I kind of did. If anyone was going to have an intriguing sex life full of love and misery, fraught with crazy decisions, it would be him. My buddy was a terrific writer, one of those people I idolized when I was a baby writer, a tragic star in graduate school (when I was a lowly undergraduate) who kept going in and out of mental hospitals, sort of a Texan version of Richard Brautigan meets Kurt Kobain. He read at a place called Joe's Diner once a month during open mike night, and people would stand in line to see him read in a way that say, they didn't for Schizophrenic Pete who performed his epic masterwork, a poem of couplets called "Taxicab Tom." Here comes Taxicab Tom, vroom vroom, Pete would yell. Joe had the good sense to open with the worst and save the best for last as to help beer sales at the end of the night. Although given the opening line-up, I'm thinking a beer would have been mighty fine under those circumstances.
"What do you think I should do?" my friend asked (I'd upgraded myself to his friend by this point in the conversation given that he was talking to me about his sex life) and looked at me with his big blue eyes, eyes that could give a person a fright. I'd gone from fan to confidant quick and didn't know what to say. I don't put too much stock into bloodlines -- I think people are pretty much assholes (if they go this route) for a variety of reasons, only some of them involving whatever genetic stew they get from their parents. But Hitler, man, that was bad to nearly everyone except the Coors family who didn't mind naming their kids after the fuhrer. Thinking fast, I said, "You should write a story where it happens." That was the last time I saw him given that he overdosed on pills a few months later, fresh out of the latest snake pit. I don't know if he ever wrote the story, but here's a small part of it, for what it's worth.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"The greater the lie, the greater the chance that it will be believed." Adolf Hitler
Drinking nonfictin suggestion: Against Love Laura Kinipis
Benedictions and Maledictions