started a book yesterday and finished today
a memoir by a yalie
it was about a bar that meant alot to him
but now the pussy doesnt drink
he lost me when he put forth the idea that he could either drink or try
so thats his problem
hes too big a pussy to write and drink
actually alot of the book is about growing up as a pussy
and being a pussy with no dad
and how strong a man his mama was
and it tricked me for a few hundred pages
tricked me with beautiful metaphors into thinking that something real and true was going to happen
that it was going somewhere
that there were some hardwon truths coming
but they remained elusive
cleverly worded sentences tho
his house growing up was a "shanty irish version of the last supper reanacted everynite"
was a pretty funny line
and the one about taking advise about facing fear from two smelly homos hiding out in the back room of a bookstore was another keeper
but it seemed mostly about not being able to write a book
not being able to write a college term paper
not being able to write a book about a bar
and his massive insecurities about these failures and
you know what
at the end of the book i began believing him that he could not write
you hear something enough times and you become brainwashed to the idea
advertising in action
which is why i can only tell manly stories
when i choose to tell them
stories about how i am the man
because thats how i live
being a man
and while interesting
the life of a pussy had nothing to offer me in the end
ironic that the guy who cant write makes his living as a writer
but in the end
pooh
a day wasted?
not entirely
i learned about how a pussy from yale thinks about the world and that may pay off someday at a poker table when im looking deeply into someones soul to see if they are lying or not
and now i understan my cats better
meow