Johnny America


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:

  1. black guys are tuff men and won’t fold un­der in­ter­ro­ga­tion (al­most like they are used to it)
  2. pros­ti­tutes are smarter than you think
  3. 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.

  1. 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.
  2. 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…

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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,

  1. all in
  2. Be­cause I need it to hap­pen, and hap­pen right now, be­cause I love to love.

Filed under Commentary on September 21st, 2004

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Reader Comments

liz wrote:

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.

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