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I WAS LIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM
I was living the American Dream, living in
Beverly Hills on an estate straight out of
Better Homes and Gardens with two
children and a wife named Tori with
big fake breasts who liked sex, but
not much of anything else.
And I was calling everyone "Babe"
doing lunches and my secretary
and I wasn't writing poetry,
I was writing screenplays- not
really writing them, but hiring
someone else to write them and
I was getting paid. I had nice
clothes and cars and I gave great
parties and I had everyone's number
then I woke-up screaming
THE RECEIVER
The other day I walk
into the men's bathroom
at work to take a piss and
I see this guy in an open
stall jerking-off.
The man stroked away,
groaning out his warm
satisfaction and I wondered
why I had been chosen to
witness this, why I've witnessed
so many of these moments,
been lucky enough to be at the wrong
place at just the right time,
to hear the haunted confessions
of strangers, their exhibitions,
tragedies and fears like cosmic
signals beamed off of
the moon.
The man finished his business
and smiled at me as he
left without washing his
hands.
COOL
I suppose I
should hit the
gym and lose
weight, so much
I look like one
of those Gap
commercial,
Tommy Hilfiger
wearing anorexic
death camp homosexual
addicts of New
York with my
face in Interview
magazine...
Sure,
as if I didn't
have enough
problems.
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