Dodger Stadium
I watch as the record executive saunters to where I am standing. He is actually slithering but in his attempt to appear human he mimics sauntering. He probably watched a video on how to behave like a human. They probably have meetings on this at company headquarters.
"How are things working with him?"
As if I automatically should know who he is talking about. He doesn't make eye contact with me. He doesn't address me as a person. I bear ink, scroll, paid for your last mistress and I am nothing to him. He probably doesn't remember my name.
"I like his approach to writing, his professionalism and his truthfulness in creating. He has a sense of musicality that can't be taught", I reply not making eye contact. The man I speak to is nothing, a suit, who will be gone when sales are down and sales are always down. I stare blissfully at the field. Someone said that baseball is grass watching with people blocking the view. I come for the hot dogs and garlic fries. Not really. I come because this team hooked me. I dangle gasping for air with a hook in my mouth.
What more can I say about the kid, my new writing partner? He is twelve years younger than me and he's good. Damn good. I am quite fortunate to have been aligned with him. I don't think about hits. I've had those. I think about creating. That's what I do, I create. It's the musician, producer and record company that erase all that. What I do is make art.
I continue, "I told him he's too good looking to be a musician".
This catches the exec off guard. "Too good good looking?"
"Pre-illegal downloads you needed to be attractive to sell records. No one cares now. You need talent and you need to play live. I told the kid he should be an actor."...
My previous partner died of a drug overdose. He died right in front of me. I've never seen someone OD before, it was horrible. They should film people OD'ing to kick drug habits. It wasn't like in Pulp Fiction or Breaking Bad. I didn't have time to react. He always looked not present and in the moment he OD'd, he was present and then he wasn't. I don't know how to describe it. It was constant distortion, a single pure angelic note and then silence. I miss that guy. Someone asked if I saw his ghost and if I have what do I say to him? I've seen a lot of ghosts, I'm not sure if I've witnessed his presence. I would tell him his drug dealer extorted money from me, his family gave me his piano and all the royalties I co-receive I place in a trust for his twelve year old son. I also think he would have really liked the movie Mad Max: Fury Road. I left a copy of the DVD at his grave. I sometimes play music, that I am working on, at his cemetery plot. Which is insane because I'm just asking ghosts to follow me home. I don't think he likes anything I'm working on. He didn't like anything I worked on while he was living so I don't think death changed his view of me. But I play, like a jester, I play.
....a work in progress
