Remember
that Duran Duran song, "I'm Looking for Cracks
in the Pavement"? What a ridiculous thing to
write a song about. I am not looking for cracks
in the pavement. But when walking the filthy
cracked pavements of life, sometimes ya step
in gum. And the next step, you step on a $20
bill.
The
$20 bill is the gum, says Buddha. But on yr
way to enlightenment it is a delightenment
to have a $12 shot of tequila on the rocks
($8 tip) and drink in the twinkle of the City
of Angels. I * L.A.
Hunter
S. Thompson flew me to L.A. and taught me about
life. He knows a lot about it on account of
all the crack he smokes. He knows especially
well what matters and what don't. He's pretty
unattached existentially, which is
of primary importance. I wish I could be. But
I so stubbornly ain't. I am so
completely attached that I collect tablecloths
and trinkets of all the states
I've lived in and obsessively read food labels
to assure myself that cereal comes from Minnesota
and pasta from New Jersey and health foods from
California and pineapples from Hawaii.
Did
you know that pineapples were a symbol of welcome
during colonial times? I wonder how they got
'em. And what the implications are when they're
screenprinted and rhinestone-studded on the
brand-new breasts of fifteen-year-old chiclets....
"And
this is precisely why I love the human.
We are programmed to fail."
Anyway,
why attachment? I think it's a general human
thing to define
ourselves through birthplaces and Social Security
numbers and signature
scents and favorite mascaras. We think that
if we define our Path we will
be safe and someday wind up in Cincinnati or
wherever it is we'd like to go.
But
the Path is already defined. As a path. And
what matters is that you stay on it, not where
you get off it. Or as Hunter puts it, it doesn't
matter where
you wreck your Porsche as long as you get it
fixed and keep on driving. But the fast-food
lunches and circus sideshows and dope-crack-love-meth
that line our solitary streets are so goddamn
tempting! So tasty and colorful, they are the
Bananaberry Hubba Bubba the human foot gets
forever stuck in. The packaging's all red and
yellow and exciting and promises so much, but
put it in yr mouth and it quickly turns to tasteless
rubber.
And
this is precisely why I love the human. We are
programmed to fail. I always argue that other
animals are superior beings, doin' mighty fine
with their cool reliance on instinct. We, on
the other hand, second-guess ourselves until
every beautiful idea has turned into a Hiroshima.
The human is the eternal questioner. Lucifer
was also the questioner and sat at the hand
of god (small 'g'...My God maybe. Maybe not
yours.) They were buds and probably got high
and played strip poker and talked into the wee-wee
hours. Then people who
discourage questioning among humans nicknamed
the guy the devil. Not unlike Eve, who's blamed
by certain dudes for ruining us all through
her infernal curiosity and desire to taste from
the tree of knowledge. And you know, curiosity
kills cats and two-year olds and it will kill
us, too. Hopefully.
VH1's
Top Three Hair Metal Bands of All Time:
"I
am all these bands and more," said the Buddha.
