the glassblower is a homophobE.
two seats down from me at an irish joint, deep in the ehart of south phillY.
not afraid, techincally speaking, "i mean they're fags focchrissake, what are they gonna do, thlap me thillY?"
he's on a roll, he's got an audience, he brings it home for the crowd of two on this thursday afternoon around twO.
"thop that you bitch, im theriously thaddened by your thupititty"
a smile crosses his face as he realizes he said tittY.
he says he really likes titties and begins to tell us why.
i head to the bathroom.
the bartender is trapped.
upon my return the brief intermezzo of titty talk has run it's course,
and hes back, hard at work, explaining his disdain for our more elfin americans.
apparrently new york citie's elfin community welcomed him with open arms an an alamingly regular basis.
he would decline, of course, but it got him thinking about whether he looked like one or walked like one or what exactly he was doing to garner all of this unwanted attention.
elves made him nauseous, because as an artist he is a visual thinker and each offer would result in a new nightmare.
suprisingly, he is a big fan of the new gay cowboy movie.
not the cinematography, or the acting.
the elficide at the end.
hed never go see it in person of course.
to many opportunites for visualiization of the physical act of manly love and the reslting nightmares.
but he read the short story in the new yorker.
in the original latin.
it turned the story in his mind, "from a gross, homo-recruitment vehicle into the feel good movie of the year"
but he reads bukowski, so he can't be all bad.
quotes him to, sometimes as mickey rourke playing bukowski, other times quoating from his readings and reactions to hecklers.
on one such disc, bukowski bellows "catullus"
much as the glassblower had done, moments ago.
i inform the glassblower that catullus was a roman poet who wrote alot about sex and drinking and he says it sounds like good stuff.
i concur and urge him to get his hands on a copy of the 2000 year old poems and spell it for him as i head out into the bright sunshine drunk in the afternoon and everything is perfect in the world.
I smile as i remember the poem about catullus walking along a path and catching a young teen couple coupling on the path and the poets reaction is to jump right in and "impale the lad in much the manner that he had been impaling the lass"
somethig like that, then a few other gems about elfin sucking or being sucked or other forms of artistic sodomy and hopeful that i have started at least one new nightmare.
poems are cool.