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The Tough Talk - 4.1 |
Velocevita (The Fast Life) - 03/15/99 00:24:10
The Heat You Pack? A good rhythm section
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Jive Bopper, "If I should take a notion/to jump right in the ocean/ain't nobody's biznss what I do." I'm knockin' my kisses to Jefferson, even if he is lettin them fly by to the right and to the left. He's ducking them like punches.
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Velocevita (The Fast Life) -- "I like pie, I hope to die / just get a load of this / when you get high, doggone the pie / come on baby, knock me a kiss."
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You gourmands can talk about cuisine, but when it snows there's nothin like dipping a peanut butter sandwich into cream of tomato soup -- with some steaming Ovaltine in a mug on the side.
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Father Mac can deliver a bromide. "Your Bathsheba" he says to Uriah the Hittite. Uriah's Bathsheba looks like somebody else's to me.
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Father MacVicar, in "The Ecstasy" do you think John Donne is thinking of David and Bathsheba with this -- "And while our souls negotiate there . . . all day the same our postures were, and we said nothing all the day."?
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Mac, you got it wrong about David. I'll tell you why in a few minutes. I'm busy now with some music and some dancing.
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Uriah, I offer to you the words of Joseph: "But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive." Genesis 50:20. Your Bathsheba gave birth to the great Solomon, builder of
The Temple; and David, well, Uriah, he got what was coming to him.
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I'm mad. I'm bad. John Lee Hooker sings my song. I'm not pleased with the way this story shook out.
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I'm looking for a new job -- more money, more fun. I just
quit my old one.
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The story for today begins this way: "And it came to pass in
an even-tide that David arose from off his bed and walked upon the roof of the king's house. And from the roof he saw a woman . . . and the woman was very beautiful to look upon. And David
sent and inquired after the woman. And one said, Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?" 2 Samuel 11: 2-3.
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Johnny's up the river, dudes. Maybe you wanta talk to us.
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Weve heard about this Johnnyboy and we wanta meet him.
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Risa Sterling Tharpe is un-American.
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I like "The Exstasie".
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This place is sophomoric.
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Father Mac, Paul's life sounds like what Little Joey's must
be. So who wants in on this job? Forget it, Joey.
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Sister Mary Regina, your flaming tongue seems to be ahead of the first line. In Donne's Holy Sonnet 14 it's "three person'd God." And it's kinky too.
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To Johnny, Fr. Mac, Bros. Alphonse, Leon, and Paul: I suggest a full night of meditation on "Batter My Heart Three-Part God." And have a three-page report ready for me tomorrow.
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. . . not to mention the Finns, Father MacVicar.
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Jean Paul, as a matter of fact, the Epicureans and the Stoics called Paul a 'babbler,' the Roman Orator Tertullus called him a 'pestilent fellow,' and it's even noted in Acts 20 that as Paul was 'long preaching' a young man in Traos named Eutychus died of
boredom. Not to mention that in the most famous 'boast' in all the New Testament (II Corinthians), Paul himself reports that he'd five times received from the Jews 'forty stripes save one,' that he'd been shipwrecked, stoned, beaten with rods, in perils
with robbers, heathen, false brethren and even his 'own countrymen.' Your criticism enjoys esteemed company, JeanPaul.
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Is this some book club for philosophers? Anybody in here wanta pull a job? I got a plan for a million-dollar heist, and I need two dudes with attitude, character, and strong criminal impulses.
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Yes, Mrs. Watson! That's how we know. If our heart dances.
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For Johnny it seems to be jazz, for Father MacVicar it is the Bible, for Dr. YaYa it is the root, for the American Boy it is baseball. For me it is literature, and although I am not one for cautionary tales, I recommend Hawthorne's "Young Goodman Brown" to you all. It is to the American short story, and to some sensibilities, what Joe DiMaggio is to baseball. I saw him play many times, by the way -- the Yankee Clipper in Yankee Stadium. My heart danced, as it did years later at the Polo Grounds while I watched Willie Mays.
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Smooth Joe DiMaggio was the most compleat baseball player who ever lived. Natural grace beyond words -- the swing of the
bat, the racehorse moves in centerfield, the eye for the
ball. True baseball sprezzatura. A 56-game hitting
streak. Untouched.
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I'm overruling you on this one, Root Man. Father MacVicar is a man of conviction, just like you are. The Father may speak.
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Send somebody to yank Father MacVicar from the pulpit. The sermon's goin' overtime. Give him the hook.
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right on JeanPaul. you the kinda man i need to team up with.
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Mac, this Apostle Paul was a humorless zealot and a johnson with no style. He's the last biblical voice I'd summon.
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Very nice, JeanPaul. I sense the struggle of the artist in you. Perhaps this will capture your imagination: "But let every man prove his own work, and then shall he have rejoicing in himself alone, and not in another. For every man shall bear his own
burden. Let him that is taught in the word communicate unto him that teacheth in all good things. Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the
Spirit reap life everlasting." Galatians 6:3-8 (KJV, of course.)
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That's better, Mac. Much better. "Is there anything whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already of old time, which was before us . . . then I said in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me . . . then I said in my heart that this also is vanity." Ecclesiastes 1: 10, 15. King James Version.
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JeanPaul, obviously I underestimated your erudition and fine taste. Though the message does not change, I'll offer my own favorite version: "nunc autem scripsi vobis non commisceri
sic huis qui frater nominatur est fornicator aut avarus aut idolis serviens aut maledicus aut ebriosus aut rapax cum eiusmodi nec cibum sumere quid enim mihi de his qui foris sunt iudicare nonne de his qui intus sunt vos iudicatis nam eos
qui foris sun Deus iudicate aferte malum ex vobis ispis." I Corinthians V: VII-X
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Little Joey, nobody believes you. You're a goofball. TO FATHER MACVICAR -- What abominable contempo translation do you read? The passage you quote, and all other passages, are far
more powerful in the high poetry and majesty of the King James Version.
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Father MacVicar ...... Double Dude!!
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Dr. YaYa, I recommend a book for you, in fact an all-time best seller for centuries. Allow me to quote a small passage that you and your cohort JeanPaul should find particularly poignant: "It is obvious what proceeds from the flesh: lewd conduct,
impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, hostilities, bickering, jealousy, outbursts of rage, selfish rivalries, dissentions, factions, envy, drunknness, orgies and the like.
I warn you, as I have warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God!" 1 Corinthians, 5:19-21.
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Key West (AP). The Kid, famed mythic poet-adventurer, was discovered today lying face down in the sand on an uninhabited island 35 miles from the shores of Castro's Cuba. U.S. Coast Guard search and rescue Commander J.R. Plimpton was quoted
as saying "It was terrible. Whoever did this, did it for a reason. The Kid suffered for a long time." Sources have indicated foul play, not drowning due to lack of conditioning. KID - your epitaph will read "HE WAS NO-ONE SPECIAL"
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So what happened, Velocevita? We get back to the States and you want Jefferson back. But he doesn't seem very interested. In fact, it seems to be very over. You're a ghost to him.
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Father MacVicar, I'd say you have a very narrow idea of worship, prayer, and communion. Cigarettes and jazz and soul music don't rule out the sanctified moment. And as you know, fellow holy man, everything about the Apocrypha is questionable -- eight of
those fourteen books read like tabloid prose to me. And much of the Old Testament too. I got a book for you to read -- "The Root" by Zanzibar YaYa, R.D. and L.D. Black Cat Bone Press
put it out last year. International best-seller. Voodoo
Apocrypha.
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Father MacVicar ...... Dude!
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Hubris, harlotry, incest and deceit. Sacrilege, sodomy and sanctimony. Cigarettes and jazz do not constitute prayer. Tabloids are not part of the Apocrypha and lounging about is
not meditation. My task is great, Brothers and Sisters, and heavy is my burden.
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you all must be related.
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Goodbye would have been nice Johnny............
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Standing here on a cold corner....wishing the best for you Johnny. You dropped a fiver in my case once. Sending good karma your way.
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Brother Leon, what do you do in Brother Paul's room every Thursday and Saturday night, say from 11:00 until about 4 a.m.?
Maybe you'll have nothing more to say about my visit here. Maybe your mouth is now closed. And maybe you'll apologize for your prissy intrusion, say before sunset.
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No smoking in the guest rooms, Mr. Noir. Once again, I've had to report you to Brother Alphonse. The list of offenses grows.
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So what do we have here? Johnny with the dancing heart?
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Like I said, the goofiest babbler ever to walk into this joint. Unfocused nonsense, nothing there. And goofy lookin' too.
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RICO - you aint nothin. that's all i got to say. JEFFERSON - ditto. where the hell've you been until now? what do you know? johnny's got nothin else to say either. the kid drowned last night. he was 7 miles out, now he's 7 hundred feet down. shark
fodder. im here, im stayin.
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No deal, Lucille. You can forget it, Velocevita/Velma. You're a ghost, and you don't want to walk near me. You want to do your walkin' somewhere else.
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go kyd! rock the straits!
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Key West, FL. Although for weeks The Kid, the self-proclaimed Mythic Poet-Adventurer, has been Key West's most controversial attraction, scores of both fans and skeptics came together this morning to witness the elegant swan dive that marked the beginning of The Kid's daredevil swim to Cuba. With a flair
for drama that has become his trademark, The Kid remained
under water for a nail-biting seven minutes after his dive, finally resurfacing yards away to the cheers of his fans. With
a grin and a wave, The Kid began the Long Swim.
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Jefferson, boy, I love you and nobody else. So knock me a kiss.
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Rico, you're right. Little Joey came in here the other night calling himself Little Caesar. Somebody looked over at him
and told him he looked more like Little Gloria. Right now, Redbone's doin' "Come And Get Your Love." We've been doin'
lots of soul music, true soul music, that sweet soul music, while Johnny's up the river -- Jackie Wilson, The O'Jays,
The Spinners, Mr. Dynamite James Brown, Al Green, Aretha Franklin, Booker T, Wicked Wilson Pickett, The Isley Brothers, Sam and Dave, the Shirelles. This joint is Soul Central.
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I nominate Little Joey as The Goofiest Babbler ever to appear in the amber light of Johnny's Lounge.
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Kid - good luck, youre gonna need it, ya hear? i got word your little swim's gonna end up with you in a tuna can, get it? To The Tough Guy - you better watch your mouth, 'cause i got strong soap, ya hear? no one's gonna muscle me an' my guys, nobody.
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Load up, Kid, and do it. There's no reason not to. TO LITTLE JOEY -- You're the new game, all right. And the name of this
game is "Little Joey Talks Tough To The Low Mirror."
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on the night before a monumental, life-changing, mythic event, it's good to celebrate a little. shot of wheat grass for all my friends!
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i'm the new game in town, and im takin over.
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jahneeza man who lykza vakashun. he got t'muzeeek daun reel looow & he wz reedin sm thik book lass nite hwen i tappd on hz wyndooow & sneekd in. he putta flannl gown ohnme & we lafffd & hadda gd tym. i lyykkat plase. he lovz it. we hd sm sprkling
wine & cheez & bred wittis tahnghee mstrd. sympl thingz. i lyk hm lykiss. he loookz reel goood.
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There can only be one voice in the air as the curtain falls on Johnny's, and that is the voice of Billie Holiday. Say "Comes Love" or "Body and Soul" or or "Am I Blue."
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If this is it, and I say it's not, then I nominate four soul songs -- Dobie Gray's "Drift Away" followed by "Super
Bad" (James Brown), then the Delfonics with "Didn't I", and then the finish -- Redbone doing "Come And Get Your Love."
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There's only one song. It's the one Ilsa and I danced to at La Belle Aurore in Paris -- Glenn Miller's "Perfidia."
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It's gotta be Frank Sinatra.
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something got to johnny in miami, mrs. watson. ive seen it happen to people like him before. he got jaded. lost heart. then he bails before the last dance is over. cant take it. wont face it. oh yeah, wheres the kid? him too.
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I suggest Edith Piaf, the Little Sparrow, singing "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" or "L'Hymne a L'Amour" or even Charles Trenet's "La Mer." All three, one after the other. Let's`do it right.
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Everybody out on the floor. I'm thinking it's time for The Last Dance at Johnny's. Something slow. What shall it be?
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What happened to Johnny in Miami, during that Monk-Ruminavi thing? For BerylB: This situation has inspired you to the heights of poetry.
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Sic transit gloria mundi.
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Incoherence. Esoterica. Randomness. Nonsense voices floating up from some void (e.g. Little Joey). Street-corner posturing. Threats tossed out like bones for any passing
dog. No story. No glue. No control. The center cannot
hold. Johnny's has become a rudderless boat, when once it
shot through the waves of the Atlantic powered by twin 454 Mercs, leaving the world and all its cares in its wake.
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i've said it time and time again, and i'll say it all
over. im the new game in town. he aint the first, and he aint the last. this kid swimmin' thing - its a desparate cry for help. nobody cares, no one knows. every one of you better watch out.
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I'm a shark! Kid, you flatter me. But then, while I'm talking, why don't you get your own joint? You seem to be dominating this space. Anybody hear from Johnny lately?
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I got friends, ya hear. connected friends that see through people like you. watch out.
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Ditto, Cynthia, across the board.
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Kid, you're not Johnny. You won't do.
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these are exactly the kind of sharks i was talkin about. these sharks, like Reeee-co and Gloria and Katarina, with their pearly whites, trying to tear the kid apart. i will make the Long Swim in one week. all I need is one more backer.
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Katarina sounds like the fortune cookie, and Rico, if you want to help, you can buy us all a drink. Bloody Mary, with heat.
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I can harldy watch anymore -- this kid/Liz character writing things to himself. What can we do to help?
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I hate to admit it, but The Kid is clearly the George Gordon, Lord Byron of our times. And Gloria, whoever you are, you sound like a fortune cookie. You should make more of an effort, my dear. xxxxWherexxis thisxxwhatxxx Am I the kid xxor Liz? What is this?
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So Carla, chick with the jumpin' jitters -- fire that sawed-off shotgun. This place needs an explosion. Maybe it'll wake somebody up.
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Kid.....settle in there, boy. Be who you should be.
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Do I have your attention? Forget about the "tough talk". Get ready for "real talk".
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So what was it all about?
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Ava, you're not alone. There are several stories Johnny didn't come back to.
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He never came back to my story. It was a good one.
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I'm home with the flu tonight, so I'm going to tap a few more words. I've been coming to Johnny's since it opened, but until recently I've never felt the need to let my presence be known. The lounge and its people have given me moments of amusement, and a few times I've even laughed out loud; but I must now say
that all purpose and direction seem lost -- Johnny's asleep in a room at the Holy Cross Monastery and this kid is running loose in the guestbook. It looks like the end.
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Turns out I was right. The kid was an engineering major at CCNY, but now he's an inpatient at Bellevue. So we should allow him to continue sending us these fantasy postcards. No problem, kid.
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Key West, FL. Standing bronzed and muscular, wrapped from
the waist down in a brightly-colored sarong, The Kid, mythic poet adventurer, announced his intention to make 'the long swim' to Cuba. The Uber Kid will be the first American to attempt
this 180 mile round-trip adventure and believes he can accomplish the feat in three days. "That's a conservative estimate," The Kid explained at his recent press conference.
"I have to allow for the possibility of minor delays, like twelve foot whitecaps or a shark attack." cont. C3
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Strange dear, but true dear / when I'm close to you dear / the stars fill the sky . . .
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All the women seem to have your number, Johnnyboy, and now it's public. You might as well take the vows, join the Benedictines, and stay there.
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i was sprinting my second lap around Key West, cookin along, flyin, we're talkin major motion, when I got to that spot
where South meets Duval, and i almost ran right off the island into the Big Pond. but i stopped short. there was that
magical buoy, that sphinx of buoys, squat in the dirt like a fat red buddah: SOUTHERNMOST POINT, 90 MILES TO CUBA.
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Not by me either, Lily and Katarina.
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Not by me either, Kat.
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Looks like you just took a hit, Johnny.
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There's a part of you that just can't be reached ... not by me.
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Johnny, you must wake up now. Surely there's no vow of
silence for guests at the monastery, and even if there were,
you wouldn't abide by it. So come back, Benedectine Johnny,
and give us the story. Do it tonight. Give us some word-kisses. And somebody please shut this posturing kid up -- Dear God! Enough.
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you never saw me, cudjoe key dude, but you knew i was there. i was the one who came rumbling through at 110 mph, rattling the windows on that rickety conch shack of yours and rousting you from your deep margarita stupor.
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Kid, was that you I saw creeping by at 15 mph, in a sarong, riding side-saddle on that old motorcycle? With a woman who looked like a bonefish holding onto your back? Was that the mythic poet-adventurer?
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got no time for quack root doctors. me and the surfer girl are headin down to Key West. got a hold of an old Indian with fringed saddle bags. Gonna cruise US 1 South and those long bridges.
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According to the Root Man's diagnosis, Kid, you're in trouble.
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Overdoses of gingko biloba and these other potions people are turning to cause head-ebola and mouthalomania. Kid, you're on the edge of collapse, and it takes big root to cure these diseases of our times. Usually they're fatal. I've watched people die. No root could cure them. Not even sumbul root. They babbled and babbled, just like you, and then they drifted off into The Big Sleep.
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I'm a crack-of-dawn riser. I am in training. I start off with five miles of beach, swim the big Ten K, then sprint two miles home to take a big bite of my fresh fruit surfer girl. I am strong and I am fast.
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Lu, where have you been? It sounds like dark conflict and tristesse are still within you. Spill it, girl. Let your hair down. Let your hair down and cry.
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Lu, who are these people -- Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald? Do they rock? Did they do that throbbing hip-hop song -- "When I'm Calling You"?
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i'm creating inner purity through florida sun, gulf breezes, the right food, and regular tastes of this surfer girl, this strawberry blonde in a thong. anybody got a problem with this? rico, for example?
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Jentilly - re: how do you keep the song from fading too fast? Only the rare, great songs last. Most songs, most people, and most of our affairs are pretty ordinary. If you really want a song to last, you better plan to do most of the humming to
yourself. You may bump into your Nelson Eddy, but chances are you won't be his Jeanette MacDonald.
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avacado pomodoro, bruschetta, osso bucco, paglia fieno alla cardinale, melanzana, cavatelli, scampi alla alforno portofino, tortellini langostino, checa, capresse, beefa carpaccio.
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Johnny . . . wake up. It's me, Johnny.
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not a bad summary, rico. you got a pretty good grasp of the complex life of a mythic poet-adventurer. after i score The Big Cash-in, maybe i'll hire you to pen my biography.
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This Kid turns out to be an emergency case for Bellevue. He's all over the attitude map. Not long ago he's plotting a
takeover of Johnny's lounge. Then he's writin' poems in Mexico and askin' for money and guns. Then he's desperate to impress some chick. Then he tells us he's gotten smart and that "hombre numero uno is back." And now he's wearing a sarong. Like
I said......nut case. Got some big disorder.
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good work, jeanpaul. i had enough of them high-strung uptown chicks. i got me a surfer girl now. saw her teaching
windsurfing to a buncha snowbirds in speedos on the beach
outside the Don Cesar. strawberry blonde in a thong. got herself a little bungalow with fruit trees in the yard. gonna crash there awhile, give the barefoot life a try, work on
my poems, wear a sarong all day, maybe even become a vegeterian. it's a healthy way of life, you know.
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Liz and Barbara -- Maybe the Kid had two uptown chix. Maybe you both got played. Either way, Liz, you're outta control, shameless, and irrational. Why're you callin him sweet names
and threatening Barbara after he's blown town, trashed you,
and told us all about it? And what kinda broad would answer
to "uptown chick" in the first place? I'm accepting no more transmissions from either of you. This uptown chick opera is
over.
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I don't know who you are, Barb, or who you think you are, but the Kid is MINE, my poeta joven y guapo. So understand me, you opportunistic home-wrecking tramp, you stay clear of my man, or you'll have to deal with me.
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You're a see-through comedian, Kid.
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this uptown chick, man. she gone crazy. starts out maligning the kid all over town. big deal, i think, everyone does that. then for a week straight she rings me every ten minutes, hanging up real quick. chick move, i decide, they all resort to that.
but then she starts followin me, spying. i was staying on St. Pete Beach on my way down to Key Largo, staying in that big pink hotel that looks like a cupcake, the Don Cesar, and that crazy uptown chick found me, came knocking at my door. told her she's
banished, out the door, adios, and that crazy uptown chick spent the night in her baby benz, howlin at the gulf waters. she over the edge, man, that uptown chick. she gone.
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So Jean Paul, do you have a story to tell? Or are you just going to stay asleep with all that insinuating jazz down low on your FM radio? I say you're Fosse-dancin' in your dreams when you should be telling the story.
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Question for the lounge: How do you keep the song from fading too fast?
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Tell the truth, Kid, and shame the Devil. I threw you out because you laid around on the couch watching TV all day and all night, wouldn't even apply for a job, and daydreamed constantly about schemes for some Big Cash-in. The last straw, you
will recall, was that poor woman you mugged on 82nd St. I
once thought you were cute. I thought I could help you. I was wrong.
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Yes and no and it's Carla you really have to watch out for.
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silky sister, i'll fly with you and we'll never leave my place.
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It took more than one man to change my name to Shanghai Lily, but Doc is my passion, and Doc only. Oh, this moon out my window! It's making me crazy.
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jahneee, hwachu doooin up the rivr wittoz monks? hwatz goin on boy? you leevin meee in the drrrrk on thisss one & itznaht likeya. smthin gotta hold uvya? talllk-ta me boy. my grrlfrend elln stooort flize a pyper cherakee & we kd drahp daun onto that litl aeroport at noooburgh sum nite. hwachu thinka thiss eyedeeah?
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Darla and Sharla, I've noticed that both of you pack the
same heat. Are you sisters? Twins? Let me know, please. My curiosity has been aroused. And HepCatJiveBopper, I too am looking forward to the appearance of this blue moon tonight. Last night's was so bright and so white and so long-lasting. It's an all-night-long moon, a memorable moon.
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Wanda, I'm not through with Johnny yet, so keep your distance. I'm the reason he's there. And girlfriend, your veil is silly-looking. Full moon tonight -- a blue moon.
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Jean Paul you can talk about the Stones, and Cynthia you can talk about that Aretha Sings the Blues CD, but today I recommend The New Radicals doin' "How Come?" (#7, Brainwashed CD).
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Mrs. Watson, with all due respect, I've found that most of life is chimera. You think you've found something true & real & full of texture...and it just slips away.
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Send a $200 money order to the Adolph post office. Mama went crazy again.
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Fez -- a chamber of wonders. Berbers, Kabyles, Arabs, Spanish, French. Donkeys, copper drums, goats' heads, the smell of mint and spices. We're lost in time.
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FinDeK, I got your seminar and I got your vision right here. Shine this, quack.
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For RICO -- I sell a wide variety of therapeutic remedies, herbal and aromatic. Vitamins too. And in my seminars I
also sell vision. For JEAN PAUL -- I'm pleased to see the
rough beginnings of spiritual development within you. It is very deep inside, long-buried, but it is beginning to shine.
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We're taking care of business here at the lounge, Johnny. What if I were to take the train up to Poughkeepsie? Think you might want to meet me at the station? Think you might want to sneak me in after dark?
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Kid, looks like you got smart on the subject of this uptown chick. You once were blind, but now you see. And I hear you got a new pair of Ray-Ban classics for that sub-tropical sun, too.
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it's over. had to send the uptown chick packin again. she made too many demands on me. get this, uptown chick: the kid changes for nobody, the kid is the kid and that's how he's gonna stay. i'm headin down to the keys, get some sun, enjoy the heat, maybe
rite some poems. i'm leavin the cold weather and uptown chicks behind for good. hombre numero uno is back.
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I'm suspicious of you, Jean Paul. I'm wondering if you belong here and I'm wondering about your motives. I'm thinking maybe we don't need guests like you. Where were you at vespers?
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So whatta we got here? A buncha philosophers, tender sentiments, retired schoolteachers, millenialists, armchair spiritualists, and monks? When will the herbalists start showin' up? Any hombres left? Am I the last one standin'?
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Johnny, to answer your question, I've concluded at the age
of 70 that most of life is dumb chance. So if you encounter something that's true, real, deep, and rich in texture,
don't walk away from it. I've also concluded that we
should trust our intuition and not our intellects. To me,
cool reason is just about useless in this crazy world.
