Mickey Mantle

Two years ago, I’m in south Boston, and who the fuck do I run into but kevin Mc bride, I’m wearing a Celtics Jersey to try to fit in right. I’m visiting family but I dont have that south boston accent so, gotta be careful. Anyway, there’s Kevin mc bride with the brogue so thick you cant understand him, Fresh off the boat sounding. And he’s hammered (here’s my mickey mantle moment). I met the man through family friends, we didnt talk much about boxing, he told me about some unfortunate encounters with beautifull prostitutes sporting penises then he tells me a joke. Mind you it’s an enibriated Kevin Mcbride with a thick brogue telling it.
” So this drunks sitting on a bench at the commons, wondering how the fuck he’s gonna pay rent. Up walks a leprechaun who says “it’s your lucky day, I’m gonna grant ya three wishes.” The drunk perks up and says “I want a driver, cuz im wasted pretty much 24/7″ DONE! says the Leprechaun, the man goes ” i cant believe this!” He says he wants to be famous and the Leprechaun goes DONE! wow, I want to be famous, he looks out over the Boston Skyline and goes, I want all this to be mine. DONE says the Leprechaun. “now could ya do me a favor” says the Leprechaun. Ya sure says the old man, anything you want. Well would ya let me fuck ya said the little Leprechaun. The drunk thought about it, he had done worse for his fix at times and obliged the wee Leprechaun. So he drops his pants and the Leprachaun climbs upon the bench and starts going to town. The drunk looks out on Boston and goes “I cant believe this is all mine”. to which the leprachaun says “I can’t believe you believe in leprachauns”. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, It was Kevin Mcbride, that along with the location (OLD COLONY projects) and the previouse comments about swingin penises on tranny prostitutes
and I’m thinking, This guy touched gloves with mike tyson and lived to tell about it, and alcohol did this to him, So what the fuck kinda chance do I stand?
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
– Those dying generations – at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.
Boxing has never gotten its enlistees from the debutant lines from the local country club. Instead its recruits come from the crucible of the streets, boy-men who have fought their way out of the slums, the barrios, the ghettos, expessing themselves the only way they knew how, with their fists… A boxing gym is a place where men are allowed to be kind to eachother, cats will wipe your face, hand you water, blow a bloody nose for you, massage your tense shoulders with no shadow of improvity, no question of motive.. this tenderness unseen elsewhere in our lives is nessicary for one reason, the gloves, they are incapacitating, the ungloved help those who are. From this central fact radiates the whole demeanor of the Game.
Some days I wake up and wonder why it’s like this, why Art has become a comodity, rather than ” the excrement of art, the real Art being the person who shit it out. Their lives being the actual art!” I wonder why popular ( and I use the term souly in the vernacular sense) people have to Buy things that other people have made to express their individuality in order to express their individuality. I wonder why it is that I’m Not much but I’m all I ever seem to think about. Its tragic, what passes as a contribution to culture. You can’t be a hipster and an artist, by definition.Norman Mailer’s The White Negroe Breaks it down, James Baldwin Breaks Mailers shit down and on down the line. It Takes Guts to grow up and become the person you were supposed to be, all these scensters got no guts, living out lives of quiet desperation inbetween cocktail hours at hipster hot spots… ALL THE SAME this is art and its fucking ILL, thanx die4

This morning, im at starbucks. I pay for my coffee and the girl is changing my twenty. In an apethetic monotone she rehearses ” hows your day going”. She didnt even look up from her till. I pause and I ask her “whats the standard answer to that question?” she looks at me confused (because thats not the next line in the script) and she says”fine… I guess”
“thats right, fine, thatss the standard answer isnt it. but theyre not fine so why would they say that
“I guess to have a conversation?”
” a meaningless one though.”
” ya I guess a meani gless one”
” so the question is whats more meaningless, the meaningless conversation. or the meaningless conversation we never have?” so later that day Im buying a donut and the attendee goes, so how you doing. I deviate from the script and say, just awfull. Im sorry (she brings it back to the script) what can I get you, without missing a beat.
I straddle the line between humanity and humanoid creatures that are human on the outside but lack hummanity. The line exists souly within my head. Im thinking, one day that donut girl might wake up, much closer to the end than to the begining and she will be scared shitless. scared because death will be definable, it will haVE features and maybe shell think about how the thing she was supposed to do was bring donuts with a little bit of hummanity. So is this it, all of life is reduced to the common ruble of benality and the only thing in between me and the shrieking nothingness is these scripted bullshit motions that im supposed to go through. It’s just polishing the brass on the titanic. So you see it isn’t the school or the car or the life stuff, its all the bullshit details that kill me…
Histeria...

My birthday at the end of january
other people can often see things about you that you yourself cannot see, even
if those people are stupid and on that note it is possible to learn valuable
things from a stupid person.