Waking up from Moronic dreams !

I suddenly wake up from a terrible dream. No, it’s not “superstorm” Sandy. It’s not Elton John sitting next to me singing me a lullaby either. Neither is it Mitt Romney in his acceptance speech! It’s WORSE!
It’s a feeble voice saying to me:

“Jesus Christ, Gerry. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

I jump up from the bed. I kind of recognize this voice, barely. And it continues:

“I’m about as bored of you as a person could possibly be at this moment”…

My heart begins to pound….Oh yes! Of course I know who this is!!! It’s someone who always plays the loser! “how am I gonna get to the airport? I have 2 dollars in my pocket? And then, if I do get there, those bastards at the bla bla bla center in London are never going to pay me and where am I going to sleep , Gerry? and where am I going to sleep and eat, Gerry”

Of couse I know that voice! Mind you, I had been warned years ago by a great great composer (common friend of ours) “he’s a ticking time bomb, self destructive and whatnot”. Yet, foolishly and stupidly (and MORON) that I am, I still went on to help him out.

But the composer (world known) was totally right all these years, if not decades! “he’ll manage to destroy every relationship and burn all his bridges because he’s afraid of some kind of success and afraid of who he is. And so, little by little, everyone leaves him.

Yet, once awake, coffee in hand, I open my email to find just that person’s note – as if Gotterdammerung has materialized and Walhalla had fallen into the “Rhein-keyboard” of my computer and it reads:

“Are you totally fucking crazy? And also, all your words from before, about how ‘no one owes you anything’, were bs. You think you BUY me, asshole? Fuck you.”

(Signed: his name)

Yes, I guess I am totally fucking crazy!!! I must be for having been his friend for… (let’s see – hmmm, he slept in my basement in Williamsburg in 1988… and, well it doesn’t matter!), on and off, decades.

Humans and semi-animals will never cease to amaze me, day in, day out, 24/7, 365 but this one, I must confess, was the icing on the cake.

my illustration for The New York Times Op Ed page 1981

my illustration for The New York Times Op Ed page 1981

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