Tuberculosis of the Mind. Chapter 606.
I am in a Ferlinghetti mood this morning as I talk to Punk Barbie and feel my brain turn to mush as it is pummeled by the grating sounds of constant death metal.
Punk Barbie and I are yelling to hear each other. Why do we do it? We are working partners.
“Keeping these hours the way you do, it removes you from being a productive member of society,” I mentioned in passing.
“What does that make you?” Punk Barbie said.
I just slept eight and one half hours.
What do you do when jump out of bed, bright-eyed and bushy tailed? I go to Aunt Tiki’s. It is one of the few places open at four o’clock in the morning.
Wherever there is sin, there must I go. I have the tee shirt.
“I hate it here,” I just said.
“You certainly are a bundle of contradictions, Mr. King,” Punk Barbie observed.
Then Boy George walked in. She is here to play video slots. She is partial to the Disco Dolphin game. This came as no surprise to me.
I am writing this while talking with Punk Barbie. We talk, then she has to leave to do something. Punk Barbie is working. I am working, too, but it is impossible to tell.
While she is gone, I write down what we talked about. I have no mind for fiction. I have no imagination. The world around me is more than interesting enough. I live in New Orleans.
Leather Tuscadero plays video games.
A steady diet of death metal will give you tuberculosis of the mind.
Boy George just left. I do not know if she won big. I did not hear the Disco Dolphin’s bells go off. Of course, it is impossible to hear anything with this constant death metal blaring.
When Punk Barbie is done doing whatever she is doing, she comes over and reviews what I have written for accuracy. Punk Barbie does not correct me. Nor do I correct her. We are equal partners, 70/30.
I have only been awake an hour. I live in New Orleans.
The circus is in town.
Now, let us get ourselves behind the paywall…