But no, shut your moptop face, fuckers, on account of I don't got the strength for to summon the prose needed to do Sinéad justice at this time. Best take a look at this other shit.
All these notes, man, all these bastard fucking notes. Reams and reams of triple-folded paper, alive with gibberish asides that baffle me, and yet also terrify me, on account of yeah, I know exactly what every one of these nonsensical scrawls refers to.
I kept writing till sometime past seven, and here and now, sat in Mondo Towers on a tremendous, gale-force-wind-lashed Tuesday night, trying to grab hold a clarity from it all. All the while, Conor teasing the thoughts out the back-door a his trembling, bent-back brain.
"Yeah, my heart needs a polygraph,
Always so eager to pack my bags,
When I really want to stay,
When I really want to stay"
One day I'll get round to drawing conclusions from the pie-charts and graphs I been working on with regards the dizzying array of emotions young Oberst coaxes out my liver. "Lust x Envy - 3 / 4 Admiration, 20% Jealousy, or vice versa" and so on and so forth.
Right now all I can think of is what a girl said to me a couple days before myself and Sir Fleming headed off to Dublin in pursuit of a Savage Purple smile and the ghost of Brendan Behan (even though, as Kevin Rowland pointed out back in the day, the ghost of Brendan Behan is most likely located nowhere if not New York), and free-form jazz and the sights and sounds of early-morning knife-fights mongst the rent-boys on the Liffey Bridge.
Like most things worth hearing nowadays, what the girl said was inspired in some way by The White Stripes. I think she overheard me babbling bout a fella on a train one time telling me bout how De Stijl was their best record, and even though I secretly understood the reasoning behind his declaration, I still shot him down with slipstream tongues of sharpest retort on account of the obvious game the fucker was playing, that old rant bout how they were better when they were playing the bar-rooms north a their mamma's hoo-hah, all that elitist shit.
He would've told me A Collection of Songs Written And Recorded 1995-1997 was the best Bright Eyes record, too, if he thought I'd be lobotomized enough for to listen for a damn second.
So yeah, this girl, she takes no time at all for to say something along the lines of "I think we should fuck."
Article comments
1 - Cerulean
Pretty exciting and exotic. I think you should make it easier to follow if you want to do something more with it, which you might. Could be a novel. One of those why I can't find love novels, where hopefully in the end you do, perhaps?
2 - Bennett
Alriiiiight! Part three tomorrow?
Thanks The Duke, I'm making plans to fly out to Dublin, 'cause it sounds damn lively to a lad living in the rolling cow hills of Vermont right now.
Can't pick a favorite line, they're all memorable.
3 - Eric Berlin
Duke -- I dug the hell out of every inch of this. You bring strange and surreal and haunted and magical days to light like no one else.
All I can ask is that you keep it coming.
Well, maybe a bright and breezy piece of the accordance of "Today the Duke ate some Cheetos, listened to some records, and had a fabulous chat with a telephone marketer" every now and again would be lovely to let us kind of take a brake and/or cleanse the palate.
You know, or something.
4 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
hey folks!
Cerulean, thanks for the comments! i dunno that any such notions of novels or novellas or the like ever ran through a man's head, but i will agree that it's maybe fairly hard to follow, on account of the jumpin back and forth in time an the like. Is there anyone who truly hasn't a damn clue what's goin on?
Bennett, thank you! i'd imagine part three'll be fairly shortly also.
Eric, i see where you're comin from. sometimes i think im gettin too "heavy" or summit, but then i think hang on, i never actually said ANYTHIN! heh. but no, i know what you mean. part three starts with a discussion of kentucky fried chicken, so maybe that'll suffice for the meantime...
again, thanks folks!