All piled into the house on Woodlawn.
They had me do all the old jokes, as though
I were a wind-up toy. Most of them had
never been in the house before. It was
about to be abandoned anyway; but my
mind still clings to it. I smoked pot there
for the first time. I got on the road to my
first hook-up at a party, & I punched a
Hulk Hogan poster’s crotch. Now even
this pile-up was fifteen years ago. The shed
in the back was filled with smoke, as were we—
& no one who was there that night, high,
hasn't been abased. Wisdom has its
palaces that look more like park benches.
Youth's privilege is to be in love with
life. I was in love with life that night, too—
the crush of strange kids in an Abington
house, movements towards more weed.
We sat on a curb and planned more
mischief. The Universe had some mischief
planned for us, too. For those of us who
live on the curb and nowhere else— a requiem.
Even as a little girl, she got beat down.
There was something wrong with her brains.
She couldn't relate to people. Cheltenham
guys noticed how adorably doll-like she was
(lookin real good, like Natalie Wood), but she
wouldn't date anyone. She died a mysterious
social drowning death. She got older and
became a Tennessee Williams heroine-as-Jewess.
I'm telling you this because I nailed her, dude.
I got her to give me a blowjob.
Guido Monte/Vittorio Cozzo prologue of "Nothing recalled and the misterious life of God" (2000)
Painting of a crowd praying before the sun, a painting hidden inside a little medal which safeguards the whiteness of centuries in Milan's oldest square - the square of a solitary day of sunlight, fragment of other lights. Dream of a crowd, of nothing, of vanity le rêve devient petit et lui aussi un autre néant, le manque de choses et de pensées pour se voir audenans, pour des êtres dont le destin (inconnu pour eux) est renfermé dans une larme intérieure, dans la fumée d'une chambre perdue, dans une terre humide, de visages effrayés et verres cassés, macerie di sangue umano che nessuno conosce ruins of human blood nobody knows. (translated by Giovanni Panzica, Patrick Waites and Rosa Maria Costa)
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