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| SATURDAY NIGHT I went to the Bar pretty early. Like 10:00 p.m. Bumped into Sean and a half way decent looking dude who was obviously trying to push up on him. He was none the pleased that Sean’s attention was placed on talking to me about screenwriting. It was a nice conversation. And the fact I was a little lit with a shot of Cuervo and two Bacardi and Cokes made it all the better. Somehow the three of us got on the subject of mourning celebrities. The other dude didn’t understand it, never did. When Aaliyah or Left Eye passed away, it wasn’t even a blimp on the radar for him. Not even when Princess Di passed. He said when people in his family died, he cried and mourned, but he never felt sad for people he didn’t know who passed. (FYI, compassion should be one of the things you display when trying to mac to somebody) Sean and I both bonded over the fact that there have been several people who we have mourned who we didn’t personally now. Sean, coincidentally, is a HUGE Luther Vandross fan. Mr. Vandross had a stroke not too long ago and while he is recovering quite well as I hear, Sean was going through various emotions at the thought of his idol being sick. I could concur, because the thought of ANYTING happening to Tori Amos makes me shudder with fear. The third dude didn’t understand. I tried to break it down like this, “When I was in Chicago, a school bus got stuck on top of some train tracks. Nobody heard the train coming and when they collided, 15 teenagers as well as the bus driver died. I remember getting some coffee on the way to work and reading it in the newspaper and looking at the faces of these kids, and I cried. I cried all morning over these… strangers really. I didn’t know any of ‘em. Just some nameless white kids really. But it was the fact that these… babies, were dead, that they had so much life left in them, that their families won’t be seeing them tonight, man… that just hurts. And I cried for those kids. I mourned for them.” “But you didn’t know them.” He said. “I did know them. They were humans. They were kids. And when we lose ‘em, it hurts. Or maybe it’s just because, you know, I happen to be human and can feel compassion without knowing it’s name.” And a hushed silence flew over that side of the bar. I took it as my cue. I went to the 12:45 a.m. showing of Quentin Tarintino’s “Kill Bill” which I have to say was AWESOME. Now, for the past couple of days, all I have been saying is how I need to find a quiet inner space within myself. There seems to be a lot of angst and turmoil and effort all around me and I need to find the little blue space, as smooth and small as a marble, inside of me I used to be so in tune with. So a little drunk , and with a little extra cash, I went to go see “Kill Bill”. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I have been having delusions of mutilated body parts, but this movie, if only subconsciously and a for a minute, spoke to me. It was two hours of nothing but hard core blood, violence and gore. Dozens of people were killed, gallons of blood were splattered. It was AWESOME. It spoke to me. And I was a little drunk. I’m pretty sure that had something to do with it. Then I walked home. I brought my walkman and some slow songs. I slowly walked home. It was my Zen really. Walking alone down Hollywood boulevard at 3:00 a.m. All the storefronts closed, the fashionably hip people’s seams beginning to show as they stagger out of rogue bars, hidden night clubs, the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame matted and dulled by the orange glow of street lights, the faces of the stars of yesteryear painted on the metal gate fronts of the closed shops, eternally smiling, still yearning for your approval through the paint, guiding your way like mystical northern stars. A cop stops two black couples for something or another. The guys predictably enough put in their best efforts to show there machismo while their flamboyantly dressed dates quietly look on. A healthy group of scantily clad, young, Latino women head towards me. I am more intrigued by the older, heavyset Latino guy peddling away on his bike who almost looses his balance looking at them. “Pervert” I say to myself, wondering what could be his motivation considering the fact that he undoubtedly doesn't know a single girl from the bunch and I imagine none of them would ever want to see him nevertheless been seen WITH him. But I am forced to look at my own pervertedness when I hit Cahuenga and see the most amazing looking homeless thug with the dustiest six pack eating a pizza slice in a fast food joint and imagine what giving head to him must feel like. “Aaah, now I see why he looked.” |
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