“Sing, sing if you must, but sing loudly. Feel…feel like they do, like the rest of the bozos out there– don’t nibble on the trigger finger! You’re on the chessboard, like the rest of us, so make a move. Calculated ones are good, but don’t wait too long. You wait a long time and some other guys gets the girl. You hesitate and some other joker gets the job, gets the promotion. Smell the roses, sniff some panties, smell the brittle pages on old books. Drag your feet across recently polished floors at expensive hotels. And tell them I sentcha! Make love to a couple of women–at the same time. Tell them you love them, but don’t lie, mean it when you say it. Let them feel your hurt. Let them grip your hammer with their hoo-has as you take them by the throat and with your eyes say all the things they’ve never heard. And with their cries that call you god, they surrender completely, they will want you to take them by the hand…into dark and thorny roads, where the asphalt ends, where right and wrong come to a halt and wave goodbye in the distance behind you. Get yourself a goddamned dog…name him Lucifer. Kiss a schizophrenic broad behind a bus depot and close your eyes through the penny-taste in her mouth and give her a romantic moment for heaven’s sake. Listen to your mother from time to time, I mean really listen to her. Sit down with her and have coffee, especially if it’s past your bed time. Remember, women are not your equal, they’re your better; we are lucky to have those celestial creatures care at all about their cowardly counterparts. I’m gonna tell you somethings, and if you repeat it, I’ll deny it: shoot something up a few times. Like morphine, don’t fuck around with heroin, that’s for spics and niggers. Of course, I was in love with a beautiful African girl in my salad days…good grief, did this woman have a behind, her ass was such a masterpiece it’d make bishops kick holes in stained glass windows. Face of an angel, this one. I’m getting off topic here. Listen to those old records no one wants to buy, the ones sitting in libraries: Schubert, oh shuby-shubes, Beethoven, Wagner, Liszt, Wolfy and the rest of those assholes. But listen, don’t just hear it. Get off that damn device and look around you or you’re gonna miss it, you hear me?! Drink cobra’s blood and get your dick sucked by a man…or two. Don’t tell your grandma I said that. And if at all possible…kill someone…but only if you’re certain you’re gonna get away with it, and it helps if they’re scum and you’re doing it for money–it sits better. Oh, my dear boy, the tigers I would tail tug to have your time…”, he said slowly aiming his chin at the ceiling and exhaling as he rubbed on the grey hair on his bare chest.
The beeping and hosed machines whirred and gurgled and the scent of mint garnished the garbage next to his bed which was tortuously turning his guts. The sound of a 747 vibrated on the windows slightly and he pointed at an empty chair.
“Dad, who were you talking to?”
“The child that came in here and woke me up.”
“We didn’t see anyone walk out, dad.”
“You must have just missed him.”