Let's start with my loathing of Bruce Springsteen, shall we?
"I've got a '69 Chevy with a 396
Fuelly heads and a Hurst on the floor"
-Racing in the Street
No, Bruce, you didn't. And either none of the people involved with the album didn't even like or respect you enough to tell you, or you simply insisted that it was going on the album like that.
Either way, you didn't ever have one of those. At least not in that combination.
I heard these lyrics in, oh, 1983 or 1984, 5 or 6 years after it came out. I eventually discovered the truth about the engine block/head combination impossibility and that ended my relationship with the man. Just. Like. That. Eventually, the "Born in the USA" single hit and if there was ANY love inside me at all for the man, it died with that song.
Let's fast-forward to Summer of 2016. A woman who would become my partner professed her love for all things Bruce. It was one of the truly heart-breaking moments of our relationship, but we agreed to accept each other's faults (hers, for loving Bruce "her first boyfriend" ... me, for loving a woman who loved Bruce like that). We would find opportunity to banter on the subject, teasing each other about our respective positions. She hinted at dragging me to a concert, and I suggested she find someone else to take. It went like that a lot.
Until today.
I listened to this interview:
https://www.newyorker.com/podcast/the-new-yorker-radio-hour/bruce-springsteen-talks-with-david-remnick
His emotional awareness and candor in the interview betray my view of the man called "The Boss". I listened to him tell a story about his aging father dragged from a schoolyard fight by his grandmother (a woman who also had a hand in raising Bruce) and point out that his dad was most upset because "I was winning, Bruce. I was winning..." He talked of how he understood that his grandmother went to get her only living child from that fight because he was too precious to lose. He spoke of how his wife saved his kids from his wanting to protect them from any time in the public eye. I listened to the man I couldn't stand for all of my adult life become a human being - a fellow traveler on the planet we share.
I thought of all the times I denounced his songwriting and his musical style. I thought of all the songs I never listened to. And as I sift though my new feelings for the man, I wonder to myself,"What else am I wrong about?"
I'm not wrong about that motor, but I can forgive one lyric in a career of artistic expression?
Yes, I can.
What can YOU forgive, my friends?
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Friday, November 24, 2017
Sugar and Spice
Zero.
Diane watched it happen for the second time.
It was real.
Death was real.
Not in the sense that death was a real event, but rather that Death was a real character. A "person" of substance
And there he was again.
Closing the door behind him nonchalantly, and with a calm demeanor, he barely glanced in any direction. He just closed the door. Then he would not leave through it again, at least not that she'd seen yet. Diane waited at the counter, watching the function room doors. She didn't think Death was on the guest list for the party.
There was a scream and a large, red-faced woman screamed "CALL NINE ELEVEN!!"
Yep. That's Death. And he was damned cute.
One.
The mail carrier smiled when she gave him the cookie. "Thanks!" he said, "But I watch the sweets. Diabetes, you know!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... " the woman apologized. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Sure thing, Ms. Preston."
Smiling, the mail carrier slid into his van and began fussing with his clipboard. He wasn't paying attention when she appeared suddenly in the open door and jabbed him with the needle in the thigh. He was stunned, and yelled at her to move away from the van. She grabbed his keys off the dashboard and ran inside, careful that nobody had been present on the deserted street. The postman wasn't feeling so good, but he was going to get to the bottom if this. He reached into his shirt pocket for his phone, but realized that she must have grabbed it when she got the keys. He made his way up the stairs to the house again and knocked.
"Lady, you're in a world of trouble. I called the cops and you're really screwed. They'll be here any minute." he called through the door. The street was empty, as always. He knew this route well enough, and if he could get his keys, he wasn't more than 8 or 10 minutes to the next house in the run. How far a walk, though... that was the question. And what did she stick him with? He knew it was a needle, he'd given himself enough insulin to know that... but what did she use? Could he walk that far? He began to feel worse. He thought about his glucose level... he'd felt like this before when his sugar was really high. Was his meter in the van? He didn't remember if he'd taken his bag from the locker this morning. He started down the steps and felt the world shift a little. he sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Shit. This sucks." He heard a car coming down the street, and stood up. It was unfamiliar. It pulled up behind his van, stopped running, and the driver stepped out. He was a good-looking young man in a black suit. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and squinted.
"Charlie? You okay?" He asked.
"How do you know me? And NO I"M FUCKING NOT OKAY, OKAY?" the mailman sat back down and slumped forward.
"I know. But you're gonna be coming with me. It's all good. You'll see." Death grinned as he approached. "You weren't on my schedule, man. What happened?"
"What are you talking about? Who ARE you?" there was a haze starting to fall over the mailman's mind. "I really need some help, whoever you are. Can you take me to the hospital?"
"I'll take you wherever you want to go in a few minutes. What happened?" Death asked.
"This woman... she stuck... me ...in the leg with some..." The mailman made a little gurgle and drooled onto the steps.
"Woman, huh?" Death asked. He looked at the house and squinted.
She watched from the window as Death, dressed in his sexy black suit and shiny leather shoes, approached the mailman on the steps. They were having a conversation of some kind, then they stopped and Death looked at the house.
"Goddamn is he beautiful" she whispered to herself while she watched him stare at the house. She closed her eyes, leaned against the door and masturbated in the stillness of the otherwise empty house to the thoughts of Death touching her anywhere he wanted. "Oh, you beautiful thing" she whispered as she finished. She thought of all the ways she'd read in fantasy novels about how to capture an unearthly being. She was pretty sure that she'd read something from Neil Gaiman about it, but she wasn't positive. "How do I catch him? How do I keep him as my own?"
Death looked at his watch. He'd been there for almost 20 minutes already. He looked up at the mailman and asked, "You going to finish this anytime soon?"
"Finish what?" the mailman asked, standing and staring blankly at Death. "And who the fuck ARE you, anyway?"
"Oh, good. About time. Let's go." Death said impatiently as he headed for the car. He gestured, "Come on. Charlie. It's not that hard. Get in."
"With you?" the mailman asked, looking down at his slumped-over body.
"Great," Death shook his head, "Another fucking dummy."
Diane began drawing Death. She drew him from memory, and she produced sketch after sketch, some nearly life-sized. She collected stories from the internet, printing them out and pinning them on to her living room wall. Her obsession grew.
Two.
Her contact was entirely correct...Insulin OD was the perfect murder weapon for the killer in her "story". The police didn't even give her a second look, and the paramedics carted the dead mailman off the steps less than an hour after she called them. There was an apology from the post office in way of a card and some free postage. She responded to the Postmaster's letter via email, didn't notice that autocorrect made sure she was offering her 'condiments' to his family. She snorted when she saw that. Condiments. Just in case they wanted a little mustard with that dead Uncle? Ridiculous.
Diane took her backpack and locked the front door behind her. It had been two weeks since she saw Death. She missed his face and would do almost anything to see him again. She was so in love with that creature - she HAD to know more about him. She'd been reading all about the relationship different cultures had with Death, and had no real explanation for his appearance, actions, or seemingly magnanimous nature. To be honest, she told herself, she really had no idea if he was magnanimous or not, but the word looked great when she wrote it down in the "Death Journal" she'd been keeping.
Diane was more than ready for another date with Death.
The bus terminal was almost empty, but a brief conversation gleaned her a short ride with a nice woman who got her within walking distance of the apartment she'd rented. "Oh, this is great, right here is fine" Diane pointed at the curb adjacent an emissions test station. The car pulled over. Diane got out and leaned back in, never taking off her hat or sunglasses "Thanks so much. My sister is going to be so excited to see me. I want it to be a surprise!"
The two women parted ways as women often do, and Diane wheeled her suitcase up the block after she'd waited until she was certain the woman was gone. It was only a few blocks, and Diane was very eager to get on with the day.
The rental apartment was nice enough, and Diane was able to remain mostly anonymous by using a pre-paid visa debit card she'd purchased on craigslist. She dropped her bags and transformed herself. a wig, contacts, and makeup offered a new woman in the mirror. Underneath, though, it was the same old Diane - ready and willing to do anything to get herself alone with that gorgeous hunk of man. She was careful about not leaving hairs around. She'd used a lint roller over and over in order to recover as much hair as possible. She'd taped the handles and knobs after wiping them,
Alex was an easy hit. He was, according to his Craigslist posting, "a recovering alcoholic looking for a second chance at love." Fifteen minutes after they met at the bar, he was on his third Vodka tonic. An hour after meeting him, he was on number five . They returned to the apartment. Diane kissed him at the door, they wrapped around each other and spun into the room, passion welling up between them. They chased each other into the bedroom, kissing and groping the whole time. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. He smiled up at her, sweating and red-faced. He slurred an "Oh, baby" at her in his light brogue, and she pushed against him. "Wait here" she said.
Diane returned to the bed, the man now nearly naked. "I've got something for you..." and she pulled the needle from her shirt pocket. The man looked at her drunkenly...questioningly. She leaned in and kissed him again "This won't hurt, baby" and she slipped the needle into the meat of his arm. She kissed him over and over, her hands covering his flesh. He didn't even seem to mind the needle.
He went quiet, and she sat up in the chair, ready for her date.
Death opened the door and entered the room.
Diane went giddy.
Death looked around as the man suddenly jumped up and was surprised to see Death standing there.
"Who are you?" he asked Death. "Diane, What the fuck?" Diane looked at Death longingly. Death barely noticed her.
"Listen dummy,"Death said, "I've got a car waitng outside. You can't miss it. Go get in and I'll be right out."
"Oh. She called me a Lyft? Cool" He got up and went out,never noticing his dead body lying on the bed.
"Dummy." Death breathed. He looked at Diane. She looked back, swooning. "You can see me, can't you?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning on the door jamb. "I'll be damned."
"I do. Fuck you're sexy. Can I kiss you?" Diane asked, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse. "I could do more if you let me..." she said, biting her lip seductively.
"You can see me. That's strange, you know? And no, you can't kiss me. Put those away." Death gestured at her bare breasts.
Diane sat in a huff."Come on, you. I want you so bad right now. I'm crazy about you."
"Crazy. I bet."
"Stop. I can't stop thinking about you. I have been planning this for so long..." She stared at him.
"The mailman, right? That was you in the house?"
"Yes. It was me." she smiled and beamed a little. "Pretty good, right?"
"If you say so. I'm leaving. Dead people attract attention. Especially when you are around for more than one. Get my drift?"
"Don't worry, handsome. I'm clear. I want you."
"That's a little odd, lady. I'll see you around. " He turned and walked out the door. "Bye."
Diane deflated a bit. She'd spoken to him, though. That was something. Next time, she'd have him for sure.
She stood up and closed the door before going to the bed. She lay down next to the cooling body there and began to masturbate, her mind filled with the sound of Death's voice. "Next time, baby. You'll be mine..."
Three and Four.
Philip and Angela were a hot swinging couple into needleplay and bondage. It took less than a week to work out the details. Philip and Angela found themselves hogtied and craving release when Diane pulled the needles out and waited patiently for the inevitable. She arranged the playroom so there was room for her coupling with Death, and she already looked fabulous from her encounter. Death wasn't late. Philip and Angela were standing in the middle of the room looking confused and elated.
"I'll be damned. You." Death said, surprised. "Lady, we need to stop meeting like this. At least until it's your turn."
"Hello, Sexy. I'm here. They aren't going anywhere. Let's party some before you go."
The two others began to talk, but Death cut them off. "Listen. No stupid questions. Sit down and shut up before you ... no, wait. Go upstairs and wait in the living room. I'll be right up. Not. A. Word."
"Are you the cops? Why are..." Philip began.
"Do you have fucking ears? I said No questions. Go." Death was cantankerous with them. "NOW."
They left, talking to each other as they did as they were told.
"Now, hot suff... We're alone. Let's you and I play some. Whattya say?" Diane was visibly aroused, her face and chest flush, and her eyes ablaze.
"I have a better idea, sweetheart." Death was smiling.
"Oh yes? Well come over here and we'll talk about it" Diane motioned to the bed and began to remove her panties."I've got a conversation starter for you..."
Death kept smiling. He reached out and kissed her on the lips. She felt so cold, and was no longer interested in fucking Death, she just wanted to warm up. She pushed him away, and crossed the room for the robe she'd dropped there before tying the couple up. When she looked at Death, still sitting on the couch next to her body, she reeled.
"You got what you wanted, lady. You had a real date with death. You had a brief, illustrious career as a serial killer, but it's going to be in all the papers that you died with your last kills. And to make it worse, you're going to be photographed like this." Death motioned to her body, reclining on the couch, her panties hooked onto the heel of her left shoe. "Pretty nice, don't you think?"
Diane stood with her mouth open, staring.
"It's a good thing I have a big car. Let's go for a ride, shall we?" Death said crossing the room and taking her arm. "A date with Death. Really? That's what you wanted?"
She looked at him, cold and tearing up.
"Come on, Dummy. I've got heat in the car."
Diane watched it happen for the second time.
It was real.
Death was real.
Not in the sense that death was a real event, but rather that Death was a real character. A "person" of substance
And there he was again.
Closing the door behind him nonchalantly, and with a calm demeanor, he barely glanced in any direction. He just closed the door. Then he would not leave through it again, at least not that she'd seen yet. Diane waited at the counter, watching the function room doors. She didn't think Death was on the guest list for the party.
There was a scream and a large, red-faced woman screamed "CALL NINE ELEVEN!!"
Yep. That's Death. And he was damned cute.
One.
The mail carrier smiled when she gave him the cookie. "Thanks!" he said, "But I watch the sweets. Diabetes, you know!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... " the woman apologized. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Sure thing, Ms. Preston."
Smiling, the mail carrier slid into his van and began fussing with his clipboard. He wasn't paying attention when she appeared suddenly in the open door and jabbed him with the needle in the thigh. He was stunned, and yelled at her to move away from the van. She grabbed his keys off the dashboard and ran inside, careful that nobody had been present on the deserted street. The postman wasn't feeling so good, but he was going to get to the bottom if this. He reached into his shirt pocket for his phone, but realized that she must have grabbed it when she got the keys. He made his way up the stairs to the house again and knocked.
"Lady, you're in a world of trouble. I called the cops and you're really screwed. They'll be here any minute." he called through the door. The street was empty, as always. He knew this route well enough, and if he could get his keys, he wasn't more than 8 or 10 minutes to the next house in the run. How far a walk, though... that was the question. And what did she stick him with? He knew it was a needle, he'd given himself enough insulin to know that... but what did she use? Could he walk that far? He began to feel worse. He thought about his glucose level... he'd felt like this before when his sugar was really high. Was his meter in the van? He didn't remember if he'd taken his bag from the locker this morning. He started down the steps and felt the world shift a little. he sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Shit. This sucks." He heard a car coming down the street, and stood up. It was unfamiliar. It pulled up behind his van, stopped running, and the driver stepped out. He was a good-looking young man in a black suit. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and squinted.
"Charlie? You okay?" He asked.
"How do you know me? And NO I"M FUCKING NOT OKAY, OKAY?" the mailman sat back down and slumped forward.
"I know. But you're gonna be coming with me. It's all good. You'll see." Death grinned as he approached. "You weren't on my schedule, man. What happened?"
"What are you talking about? Who ARE you?" there was a haze starting to fall over the mailman's mind. "I really need some help, whoever you are. Can you take me to the hospital?"
"I'll take you wherever you want to go in a few minutes. What happened?" Death asked.
"This woman... she stuck... me ...in the leg with some..." The mailman made a little gurgle and drooled onto the steps.
"Woman, huh?" Death asked. He looked at the house and squinted.
She watched from the window as Death, dressed in his sexy black suit and shiny leather shoes, approached the mailman on the steps. They were having a conversation of some kind, then they stopped and Death looked at the house.
"Goddamn is he beautiful" she whispered to herself while she watched him stare at the house. She closed her eyes, leaned against the door and masturbated in the stillness of the otherwise empty house to the thoughts of Death touching her anywhere he wanted. "Oh, you beautiful thing" she whispered as she finished. She thought of all the ways she'd read in fantasy novels about how to capture an unearthly being. She was pretty sure that she'd read something from Neil Gaiman about it, but she wasn't positive. "How do I catch him? How do I keep him as my own?"
Death looked at his watch. He'd been there for almost 20 minutes already. He looked up at the mailman and asked, "You going to finish this anytime soon?"
"Finish what?" the mailman asked, standing and staring blankly at Death. "And who the fuck ARE you, anyway?"
"Oh, good. About time. Let's go." Death said impatiently as he headed for the car. He gestured, "Come on. Charlie. It's not that hard. Get in."
"With you?" the mailman asked, looking down at his slumped-over body.
"Great," Death shook his head, "Another fucking dummy."
Diane began drawing Death. She drew him from memory, and she produced sketch after sketch, some nearly life-sized. She collected stories from the internet, printing them out and pinning them on to her living room wall. Her obsession grew.
Two.
Her contact was entirely correct...Insulin OD was the perfect murder weapon for the killer in her "story". The police didn't even give her a second look, and the paramedics carted the dead mailman off the steps less than an hour after she called them. There was an apology from the post office in way of a card and some free postage. She responded to the Postmaster's letter via email, didn't notice that autocorrect made sure she was offering her 'condiments' to his family. She snorted when she saw that. Condiments. Just in case they wanted a little mustard with that dead Uncle? Ridiculous.
Diane took her backpack and locked the front door behind her. It had been two weeks since she saw Death. She missed his face and would do almost anything to see him again. She was so in love with that creature - she HAD to know more about him. She'd been reading all about the relationship different cultures had with Death, and had no real explanation for his appearance, actions, or seemingly magnanimous nature. To be honest, she told herself, she really had no idea if he was magnanimous or not, but the word looked great when she wrote it down in the "Death Journal" she'd been keeping.
Diane was more than ready for another date with Death.
The bus terminal was almost empty, but a brief conversation gleaned her a short ride with a nice woman who got her within walking distance of the apartment she'd rented. "Oh, this is great, right here is fine" Diane pointed at the curb adjacent an emissions test station. The car pulled over. Diane got out and leaned back in, never taking off her hat or sunglasses "Thanks so much. My sister is going to be so excited to see me. I want it to be a surprise!"
The two women parted ways as women often do, and Diane wheeled her suitcase up the block after she'd waited until she was certain the woman was gone. It was only a few blocks, and Diane was very eager to get on with the day.
The rental apartment was nice enough, and Diane was able to remain mostly anonymous by using a pre-paid visa debit card she'd purchased on craigslist. She dropped her bags and transformed herself. a wig, contacts, and makeup offered a new woman in the mirror. Underneath, though, it was the same old Diane - ready and willing to do anything to get herself alone with that gorgeous hunk of man. She was careful about not leaving hairs around. She'd used a lint roller over and over in order to recover as much hair as possible. She'd taped the handles and knobs after wiping them,
Alex was an easy hit. He was, according to his Craigslist posting, "a recovering alcoholic looking for a second chance at love." Fifteen minutes after they met at the bar, he was on his third Vodka tonic. An hour after meeting him, he was on number five . They returned to the apartment. Diane kissed him at the door, they wrapped around each other and spun into the room, passion welling up between them. They chased each other into the bedroom, kissing and groping the whole time. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. He smiled up at her, sweating and red-faced. He slurred an "Oh, baby" at her in his light brogue, and she pushed against him. "Wait here" she said.
Diane returned to the bed, the man now nearly naked. "I've got something for you..." and she pulled the needle from her shirt pocket. The man looked at her drunkenly...questioningly. She leaned in and kissed him again "This won't hurt, baby" and she slipped the needle into the meat of his arm. She kissed him over and over, her hands covering his flesh. He didn't even seem to mind the needle.
He went quiet, and she sat up in the chair, ready for her date.
Death opened the door and entered the room.
Diane went giddy.
Death looked around as the man suddenly jumped up and was surprised to see Death standing there.
"Who are you?" he asked Death. "Diane, What the fuck?" Diane looked at Death longingly. Death barely noticed her.
"Listen dummy,"Death said, "I've got a car waitng outside. You can't miss it. Go get in and I'll be right out."
"Oh. She called me a Lyft? Cool" He got up and went out,never noticing his dead body lying on the bed.
"Dummy." Death breathed. He looked at Diane. She looked back, swooning. "You can see me, can't you?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning on the door jamb. "I'll be damned."
"I do. Fuck you're sexy. Can I kiss you?" Diane asked, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse. "I could do more if you let me..." she said, biting her lip seductively.
"You can see me. That's strange, you know? And no, you can't kiss me. Put those away." Death gestured at her bare breasts.
Diane sat in a huff."Come on, you. I want you so bad right now. I'm crazy about you."
"Crazy. I bet."
"Stop. I can't stop thinking about you. I have been planning this for so long..." She stared at him.
"The mailman, right? That was you in the house?"
"Yes. It was me." she smiled and beamed a little. "Pretty good, right?"
"If you say so. I'm leaving. Dead people attract attention. Especially when you are around for more than one. Get my drift?"
"Don't worry, handsome. I'm clear. I want you."
"That's a little odd, lady. I'll see you around. " He turned and walked out the door. "Bye."
Diane deflated a bit. She'd spoken to him, though. That was something. Next time, she'd have him for sure.
She stood up and closed the door before going to the bed. She lay down next to the cooling body there and began to masturbate, her mind filled with the sound of Death's voice. "Next time, baby. You'll be mine..."
Three and Four.
Philip and Angela were a hot swinging couple into needleplay and bondage. It took less than a week to work out the details. Philip and Angela found themselves hogtied and craving release when Diane pulled the needles out and waited patiently for the inevitable. She arranged the playroom so there was room for her coupling with Death, and she already looked fabulous from her encounter. Death wasn't late. Philip and Angela were standing in the middle of the room looking confused and elated.
"I'll be damned. You." Death said, surprised. "Lady, we need to stop meeting like this. At least until it's your turn."
"Hello, Sexy. I'm here. They aren't going anywhere. Let's party some before you go."
The two others began to talk, but Death cut them off. "Listen. No stupid questions. Sit down and shut up before you ... no, wait. Go upstairs and wait in the living room. I'll be right up. Not. A. Word."
"Are you the cops? Why are..." Philip began.
"Do you have fucking ears? I said No questions. Go." Death was cantankerous with them. "NOW."
They left, talking to each other as they did as they were told.
"Now, hot suff... We're alone. Let's you and I play some. Whattya say?" Diane was visibly aroused, her face and chest flush, and her eyes ablaze.
"I have a better idea, sweetheart." Death was smiling.
"Oh yes? Well come over here and we'll talk about it" Diane motioned to the bed and began to remove her panties."I've got a conversation starter for you..."
Death kept smiling. He reached out and kissed her on the lips. She felt so cold, and was no longer interested in fucking Death, she just wanted to warm up. She pushed him away, and crossed the room for the robe she'd dropped there before tying the couple up. When she looked at Death, still sitting on the couch next to her body, she reeled.
"You got what you wanted, lady. You had a real date with death. You had a brief, illustrious career as a serial killer, but it's going to be in all the papers that you died with your last kills. And to make it worse, you're going to be photographed like this." Death motioned to her body, reclining on the couch, her panties hooked onto the heel of her left shoe. "Pretty nice, don't you think?"
Diane stood with her mouth open, staring.
"It's a good thing I have a big car. Let's go for a ride, shall we?" Death said crossing the room and taking her arm. "A date with Death. Really? That's what you wanted?"
She looked at him, cold and tearing up.
"Come on, Dummy. I've got heat in the car."
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