I can’t care too much about
the little piece I cling to. I don’t have much and I’m losing small parts of that “much” all the time. As long as things are
working out, as long as life is good… I won’t take too many gambles. Conventional success’ll kill my soul. If the women are
throwing themselves at me, and there’s money in the bank, and people aredigging my scene and the hair looks good… There’s nowhere to go but down. Who wants to lose the condo and the BMW because
of a new wrong haircut or bad, bad shoes? The fear’ll keep me on the treadmill. The inspiration hides out in the head, bouncing,
careening like any other ping-pong ball. I got a few more loans left in the cosmic bank and they… they’re all that’s holding
me back from yet another reinvention, yet another comeback for Jimi! The sooner I give away my last few pennies and burn my
last bridge, the better off I’ll be. So really… I’m not putting change into a phone… I’M MAKING ROOM FOR MY FUTURE!
Diane isn’t home so I leave a message with her mother… But I walk away proud.
I walk into the pub. Helms is sitting at a table, staring out the window, running his hand through his curly locks, stopping
only to occasionally scratch his chin. The table’s got a small green towel on it to soak up the spilled suds—it advertises
one of the local scotches. A pair of frothy pints sit next to each other, swapping foam. I sit down and take a long pull,
like poison coal to a furnace. Washing away thoughts of Lindsey… And Ray… And my parents… Anything I didn’t have a ready-made
answer for. I’m not sure whether seeing Diane would remind me of Lindsey, or help me to forget her. I look out the window
of the pub onto the Strand—one of those famous british streets. I remember one of my college profs telling us a story about
Charles Dickens and he mentioned the Strand. The storyescapes me, as does most of college… A stop in time… A four-year freeze… A reading list… A bag of Ecstasy… A month of therapy.
It starts to rain and rain is just perfect for London, for who I am, and what I’m doing. It works over here. A town like L.A.
looks like a been-around-the-block-too-many-times and won’t-ya-come-home-with-me kind of bleach-blonde, pussy-haired, really…
I’m-not-HIV-positive sort of street-walkin’ whore when it rains, but London wears it well… Its mascara doesn’t run. The people
walk faster and some even run. They all have umbrellas and if they don’t, they buy newspapers. I hear a sad trumpet, or maybe
a lonely cornet. The brick gets cleaner with every drop that hits it and the people keep on running… I think about this and
that. I let Lindsey creep back in even though I don’t want to but it doesn’t hurt that much because I’m here… And she’s there…
And I won’t see her today. I look at Doobe and I’m happy that I wasted four years in college just because I met Doobe. I think
about Ray and I wish he were here. I wish my brother Ray were here… I wish he were here. The rain falls and falls and everyone
hurries for shelter. The bustle. I could watch it forever from a bar, three steps below street level, but I never want to
be a part of it unless I have it my way. I’ll hide and bide. I’m afraid to jump into that big pond. I take a drag of my beer.
They tell me it feels good for them to work. That it fills their days and their minds. I’m happysitting here with a pocket full of borrowed money and a head full of rain.
PUIP 21
“So tell me what happened to Lindsey.”
“I met Lindsey at the beginning of the summer. We hung for a couple of weeks and then, BOOM… She’s living with me and everything
is perfect. We’re renting a room from the Good Witch and everybody seems happy. I got a case of the herpes that I got left
over from the summer before and I tell Lindsey about it and we vow to be careful. Of course, one morning I wake up and slip
the little piece I cling to. I don’t have much and I’m losing small parts of that “much” all the time. As long as things are
working out, as long as life is good… I won’t take too many gambles. Conventional success’ll kill my soul. If the women are
throwing themselves at me, and there’s money in the bank, and people aredigging my scene and the hair looks good… There’s nowhere to go but down. Who wants to lose the condo and the BMW because
of a new wrong haircut or bad, bad shoes? The fear’ll keep me on the treadmill. The inspiration hides out in the head, bouncing,
careening like any other ping-pong ball. I got a few more loans left in the cosmic bank and they… they’re all that’s holding
me back from yet another reinvention, yet another comeback for Jimi! The sooner I give away my last few pennies and burn my
last bridge, the better off I’ll be. So really… I’m not putting change into a phone… I’M MAKING ROOM FOR MY FUTURE!
Diane isn’t home so I leave a message with her mother… But I walk away proud.
I walk into the pub. Helms is sitting at a table, staring out the window, running his hand through his curly locks, stopping
only to occasionally scratch his chin. The table’s got a small green towel on it to soak up the spilled suds—it advertises
one of the local scotches. A pair of frothy pints sit next to each other, swapping foam. I sit down and take a long pull,
like poison coal to a furnace. Washing away thoughts of Lindsey… And Ray… And my parents… Anything I didn’t have a ready-made
answer for. I’m not sure whether seeing Diane would remind me of Lindsey, or help me to forget her. I look out the window
of the pub onto the Strand—one of those famous british streets. I remember one of my college profs telling us a story about
Charles Dickens and he mentioned the Strand. The storyescapes me, as does most of college… A stop in time… A four-year freeze… A reading list… A bag of Ecstasy… A month of therapy.
It starts to rain and rain is just perfect for London, for who I am, and what I’m doing. It works over here. A town like L.A.
looks like a been-around-the-block-too-many-times and won’t-ya-come-home-with-me kind of bleach-blonde, pussy-haired, really…
I’m-not-HIV-positive sort of street-walkin’ whore when it rains, but London wears it well… Its mascara doesn’t run. The people
walk faster and some even run. They all have umbrellas and if they don’t, they buy newspapers. I hear a sad trumpet, or maybe
a lonely cornet. The brick gets cleaner with every drop that hits it and the people keep on running… I think about this and
that. I let Lindsey creep back in even though I don’t want to but it doesn’t hurt that much because I’m here… And she’s there…
And I won’t see her today. I look at Doobe and I’m happy that I wasted four years in college just because I met Doobe. I think
about Ray and I wish he were here. I wish my brother Ray were here… I wish he were here. The rain falls and falls and everyone
hurries for shelter. The bustle. I could watch it forever from a bar, three steps below street level, but I never want to
be a part of it unless I have it my way. I’ll hide and bide. I’m afraid to jump into that big pond. I take a drag of my beer.
They tell me it feels good for them to work. That it fills their days and their minds. I’m happysitting here with a pocket full of borrowed money and a head full of rain.
PUIP 21
“So tell me what happened to Lindsey.”
“I met Lindsey at the beginning of the summer. We hung for a couple of weeks and then, BOOM… She’s living with me and everything
is perfect. We’re renting a room from the Good Witch and everybody seems happy. I got a case of the herpes that I got left
over from the summer before and I tell Lindsey about it and we vow to be careful. Of course, one morning I wake up and slip
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