I love the laughter within my barbecued mind; faint echoes of Cherry Sprytes playing tag pierce a fragile silence. They skip down the pathway to my paper-mâché heart. We are a solace to one another.
Hear the music? Hear it? I can pick up radio stations just by opening up my inner ears. Listen … “Well, he talked all night about his suicide and how it kicked him in the head when he reached twenty-five …”
Do you think I’m sexy? Do you respect me? Will you ever? I’m not a convict or a felon. You look at me as if I am. You think I’m crazy, don’t you? I may be crazy but that doesn’t mean I’m insane. Understand me? I do community service because I truly want to help others any way I can. I’m not forced by any court to do this. I love wearing orange jumpers picking up trash along the Hollywood freeway. It’s my way of giving something back to all the little people who have helped to make me who I am today; a star, baby … a huge fucking star! S’right, and don’t you forget it. Cat got your tongue? Meow.
Oh my. Here already. Too fast. Always too soon or too late. This is my exit; Hollywood and Vine. You may come up to my place for a while … if you like. Sip some wine. I don’t bite. Not true. I do but I won’t. If you’re really good, treat me right, I might even let you spend the night. Listen. Hear that? Listen. Hear it? Do you want to dance? Real slow? Easy does it.