On Saying Good-bye
“We shook hands in the summer
and decided to explore as much of the world
as one week of driving would allow,
but this interstate’s not long enough
to contain our enthusiasm for each other
so I’ll tattoo a highway
down my chest
curving around the places where your hands have left
running under the bone….”
We opened like that. Wow.
Then, Angel singing an andalusian flamenco.
Mr.Perriello featuring maybe…. Shakespeare.
“A heart can burn, and burn, and burn, but never change a mind.”
Check the following links for his next gigs:
IntO the mOOn
Fleur Offwood & the Conifers
Humphrey, Nadia and:
“A confusion of order,
a fair share of fame,
no one is better than the other,
my jazz, my soul.”
Dylan. Georgina’s highlights:
“I’d like to apologize for getting it all wrong with the following people…
I’m sorry to Patrick- My first kiss. I should have snuck off with you to make out on the golf course. It would have been great! (Well, it would have been okay.)
To Dennis. I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to the eighth grade dance because, well, you were fat. I was fat too. I don’t know what I was thinking.
To Mr. Greg Greenberg. I’m sorry you were 22 and I was fifteen. But quite frankly, what were you thinking? I’m most sorry that our sexual experimentation never got farther than doing it to the Paris Hilton sex tape. I’m since discovered more inspiring love scenes.
To Jamie Keith… I’m sorry I got drunk and seduced you because you were the gayest-looking girl in the room. Short hair. Blazer. And I’m sorry for my quick exit the next morning. I put my thong in my pocket and I was outta there. It was less than elegant.
And then there’s Lola…. Lola. Lola. Lola. Lola and I understood each other. I’m sorry I was only in Milan for 3 days.
I’m sorry to Monsieur Hervé: that I thought it was funny to seduce a student; to screw a student. I’m sorry I pretended to fall asleep afterwards rather than listen to you struggle with the present progressive. You never got it quite right.
I’m sorry for that too.”
Emily. Lisa. Zoophiliacs. Cow Chris and Casanova Benjamin.
Bruce promoting the “The Great Brain Washer Machine”
Save the date: Friday night, December 10, 2010. Cafè des Sports. Paris.
Last time we closed with the Panic Attack of an Artist
this time with the death of a poet,
meaning W.B. Yates,
meaning C.H. Newens
reading W.H. Auden:
“In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.”
See you next monday, drama queens.