moss, bills
Sunday, Nov. 13, 2005 - 15:37

Beware

! : "The Pisces writer may be tempted to lounge for years in bars, telling himself he's gathering material, when he's really just gathering moss and unpaid bills."

In February please come and shoot me if I'm still sitting on my ass like that, February is my two-year deadline and please do not let me extend it. I am telling you this now and I mean it but come February I will try to weasel my way out of it by saying I'm not ready. "I'm not ready" I will whine and cry, I will be a baby, I will throw a fit, and I'm serious, you must shoot me. The time will come.

Arrows if you must, if you are squeamish about bullets.

In the meantime it is a Sunday afternoon and I have nothing to write, please commission me. Give me an idea, a sentence, something and I will give you a story. Give me an interesting name, a scenario, a person. Why am I asking you? Because I am tired and I feel like shit and can't do the thinking for myself.

Last night Mr. Cute Boy and I managed perfectly to eat at a slow Indian restaurant, get a cab, get to Henry Rollins in time (he started talking at 8:02 and finished two hours and forty-five minutes later), and then get down to the Showbox fifteen minutes before Broken Social Scene started. We got a beer, I went pee, they started, it was all great.

Yesterday morning he came to breakfast with me and my sister. "Please let's go get breakfast tomorrow" he'd said the night before on the way home. "I'll talk to you tomorrow" he said last night in the pouring rain, 1:30 in the morning, after walking three blocks my jacket was saturated. He will not call but that is no longer important, what is important is that last night we sat next to each other laughing and learning and tomorrow will come soon enough.

Henry Rollins, if you know him you know him, if you don't you don't know what you're missing out on.