Fri, 14 Oct 2005

more powerful than a wino’s drinking hand
They put this salve on me so that schoolchildren could not see me. This was enough to get me out of my public service, my lawyer said. But was I still allowed to disco-dance? No! No, unless I did said disco-dancing in my living room with all the shades pulled, but what kinda disco dancing is forbidden from the joy and simple heartfelt perfection of my adoring audience? I am not some sort of silly artist who feels that disco-dancing is a self-perfect act, taken place in secret, hidden from the world! I do these things for the comfort and stimulation of the many who witness and applaud! Fuck your stupid laws! I am a genius of dancing, and this genius will not be silenced! This girl I met at the discotheque was covered in glitter, and from my years as a custodian I knew that glitter was my enemy, there’s no using the Bissel on glitter, there’s no wiping glitter off the coke mirror. But I was bedazzled by undulations and bouncing and forgot my cleaning training and told her, you know, I’m a genius of disco. She did not at first believe me (which is understandable, as I’m kinda lumpy) but moves were busted like so many planes of glass and soon she swooned for my moves and next thing you know there’s glitter all over the back seat of my Nova. This was a problem later, as coffee-jittery detectives pushed on me as to how said dancing queen was missing presumed dead and I said no dice, Beretta, she’s staying at my domicile until she gets up the nerve to tell her cornfed parents she’s in love with the genius of disco, but those cops, man, there’s no talking to them. Also I was staying at an SRO over by the Y and so my story seemed shaky. “You mean to tell me this woman, this Miss Cattle Congress ‘05, she ran away from home and a promising career as a spokesperson for Tiny Giant Pork Industries just so she could live in some seedy hovel with an admittedly lumpy failed writer?” to which I said “That’s exactly what I mean to say, dig, but what you don’t know is that I’m a genius of disco” but like I said, the fuzz don’t want to hear about young love, so I put my trick wrists to work and get out the cuffs and jump out the window four stories to a dumptruck full of feathers driven by my true love Miss Cattle Congress ‘05 and she puts the pedal to the metal as I tarzan into the passenger seat and we hightail it all night to Omaha where they know about true love.
(00:24.10.14.2005) [/scrytch] #