they said: "what the hell is he doin' in there?"
another one answered: "that's Rich in there, he's takin' a shit."...
and writing poetry.
and yet another one said: "You should wipe your ass with it!"
from somewhere else behind the door came: "He thinks he's gonna' get laid, 'cause he's a poet."
"C'mon Rich, we're goin' to Leo's tap...
they have 15 cent beers in the can tonight, and a live band."
"There's gonna' be a lot of sorority girls!"
"Get your fat ass out of the can!"
I say: "You guys are turds...Don't you ever think about bettering yourselves?"
"The more you know about the world, the more shit you have in your trick bag, enabling you to flirt with women."
(they get really quiet after I state this basic truism...I wait for it to penetrate neanderthalic frontal lobes.)
After a few, welcome, silent moments, one of them says: "Yeah, you might have knowledge, but with that ugly mug of yours, you're gonna' need every single word!"
(Hmm, I think, point well taken.)
So I say: "Ok, ok, assholes, let's go!"
We all pile into George's beat up Buick, and head out for the bar.
Screw reading, screw art, and screw knowledge.
Drinking and fornicating take "first place" on this particular evening.
As I grew from a gangly young man, into a grizzled old one, I realized that this is the way things should be.
After all, a life has to be lived, before it can be written.
You know what I really love though?
Thinking about everything.