Haec vulnera pro libertate publica excepi; hunc oculum pro vobis impendi: date mihi ducem, qui me ducat ad liberos meos, nam succisi poplites membra non sustinent?
Received a postcard today from my veterans homeless shelter buddy Gordon The Hollywood Anarchist. He's written another book, "Into The Arms of Moloch." You may remember his name from screenwriter's credits back in the '80s.
Gordon and I used to hang out together in the veterans transitional living facility because no one else there could follow the complex sentence structures of our normal speech patterns, not to mention eighteenth century literary references or psychosocial poli-satirical subtexts.
Sometimes it was lonely at that sober living neo-fascist concentration camp, but the down time was necessary.
Gordon and I have both moved on to higher forms of homelessness; something with a little more class. I live in my mother's house in the elephant burial grounds of east Texas and Gordon has found dignity in his Nigerian Chevy parked at a public park in Westwood where many of the UCLA professors, the burnouts, go slumming.
Neither one of us, though we know better, can resist peripheral contact with mainstream society: him with his books and me with my internet videos.
Petronius would be proud: The Satiricon continues.
No comments:
Post a Comment