Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Graeme Jamieson ~ Shooting The

“What is your charm?”

That is exactly what she asked. And I gotta tell you, I stopped still for a sec. It was the Ravenite Social Club, Thursday night, and suddenly this chick at the 21 table was pushing me the hot breath.

“Look lucky, my charm is that I’m charming, alright! Balance to the fact that – from time to time – I’m wrapped up and alarming.”


“Yeah sure. I alarm.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Listen coco-pop, you don’t need to get it. I mean, you don’t even got to dig it. I aint trying to coo-coo ya, see. It’s just that, now and then, I do moments. I wouldn’t go so far as to call them episodes – no – I wouldn’t go that far at all. But there can be periods when, I don’t know, I want to cause a three-syllable furorê in my soul. Sometimes for a wafer thin reason, other times, no reasonable raison d'être.

"Like, look at him… see that soft cigarette packet in his T-sleeve? Looks hard huh? Real tough and cool as fuck, no doubt. But I bet you a nickel to a dime he’d rather keep that scar there classified. You see that!? I bet he’s pissed about dat. And when he gets back tonight and maybe looks in a vanity, he’ll wonder: ‘Ugh, did she see my scab? Shit! Shit! Shit! I should have worn the jacket. Oh man...' and he’ll over-ponder. It's fucking senseless.

"But none of this really matters, CC Real. What’s important, alright, is that I seem to charm. In fact, I’m all for it in the main. The alarm part, it don’t matter so much no more. It used to happen alot when I was in the Outfit. Especially – and regrettably – I'd get a moan on at my nearest and dearest if ever I sensed a lack of understanding or whatever. But it don't distinguish overly, it's not a bonding characteristic, if you know what I mean. So it seldom features now.

"You remember Linus, that blanket-boy kid from Charlie Brown? With the blue rag? People all over the world were saying for a hundred years: ‘Yeah, I definitely identify with that. I remember when mother hid my blanket...’

"Well... let me tell you sugar puff, it aint about that. Blanket-boy had a serious seven day rage. It was there in black and white. The blanket was blue cos he coloured it so with his language. All day he would mutter 'Fuck right off' into that dirty cloth. At times, I'm sure he led a swarm of flies around too. Other days, he wore an exc!amation halo. I knew why, Woody could tell, Charlie B too. Hell, I bet even motherfucking Snoopy knew. So Schultz gave him a blanket to a) muffle him up and b) chew on when he got really angsty. That's why they never made a Peanuts movie. He woulda been a major handful on set."

“I didn’t know that.”

"Now you do froot loop, now you do. But listen to this; the furious anger and great vengeance or whatever don’t mean shit unless you channel it. I mean, why keep everybody at arm’s length, huh? You just don’t do it. What you got to learn – and this is important, alright – you got to learn to channel. Zone right out. It’s ways and means. Means and ends. Because there’s no sense in that shit. It’s better to think on a cubic level.

"But you know what? In the waste disposal business, it’s wise to wind the alarm for whenever you're awakened. Like, today for instance; some garbage-pick-up goombah got all grievous down the wire at 7am, just because a jiggle-brained dope fiend was sleeping out in a wheelie bin South of Lexington. And now, a nutcracker, hair-lacquered lioness is giving me the A while I'm on a royal streak. I mean, either way, I reserve the right to bite back. But twice in 24 aint so nice, so be a cub, lucky charm, and scram.”

And good as gold, she folded there and then.

No comments: