Notes from James Spillane Involving Spaghetti Westerns and Football
She moves across the room like a paradise, a thing that won’t get lost? Slithering up to the inside seams of my levies a hand that knows mother lover, breasts to fall asleep in… the piano man plays the best tunes here and the houses are cheap / it is all about the real estate and I think I got the REAL estate, I am here and there is whiskey, he, and bullets in the hole… raise for the flop:
- black guys are tuff men and won’t fold under interrogation (almost like they are used to it)
- prostitutes are smarter than you think
- black prostitutes are smarter and tougher and perhaps the strongest charters in this movie
There was just a little inch of her skin that exposed. The part above her waist line and below her shirt line sticking itself out in the foundation which angels are made of, molting and calling my hands reach out stupid with numb curiosity to understand triangles and pyramids.
- Florida is strong, gifted with lot skill players; it seems like Florida and Texas have all the skill players and teams like Nebraska and Ohio breed all the real men. Strong holding a line understanding of the line, always a line so White and black.
- Tennessee some how, some way kicks a field goal in the last six seconds to put them up by two whole points. Florida looked sharp, like the real winners.
You call me in the morning and I am thinking about all these things, divorce, cutting our lives in half, who will drive the car, who will pay for the car, this girl I met, what time does the liquor store close?, Monday to Friday, my annual pay, how are my basketball skills, drink like a fish, spending all my money on calling cards to call all the people that want to be so far far away from me…
- You need a guy like Patrick Dennihey (or what ever his name is, I remember him from the movie, never cry wolf) with wide shoulders, either him or Gene Hackman to play my dad, to yell and scream and lay down the pavement. If this is a story? — I recommend these two actors as?a protagonist.
- Swing around a lot like a gymnast, laugh, flop into a bail of hay next to her, shoot your pistol off, you don’t care.
- ask the piano player if he knows Neil Young’s “old man” and ask him to play it, he of course won’t know what you are talking about 9 it is 1886 or somthing stupid like that.) so you will be forced to sing him a few lines from the song… you are drunk now and you don’t really care.
I find myself a young tuff black prostitute who can throw for a lot of yards (a skill player), she slithers over to me and slips her hands down my pants, I ask the bartender to play some radiohead or at least some Neil young, I thing about calling all the people I love. I get out my calling card, they seem so far far away, I have two spooky tooth looking aces staring at me, so deep in the hand that I decide to go all in,
- all in
- Because I need it to happen, and happen right now, because I love to love.
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How You Might’ve Found Johnny America #15: September, 2004 »
spillane, you loved me with what you were able to love me with (about 40 percent of yourself,) and your words still do the trick for me, keep on writing. i love the fact that i can still google your name and catch a glimps of your awkward ways.