so anyway, junior's dog is suicidal ...
junior lives out back from me in a bomb shelter,
along with, white as chalk, baby talk, martha,
and the black hooker crack addict whose name escapes me.
the other night, junior was drunk, and he was chasing
his dog down the street ... muttering to himself ... fucking dog,
do you want to get run over, are you a suicidal dog?
i was on my front porch drinking a beer and junior didn't
see me. which leads me to this screen play ...
setting: mt. hope ... early sixties i think
scene: little league field, about 6 in the evening
i'm in center field ... i'm mickey 'fuckin' mantle, i am clemente,
i'm having the time of my life ... dad gets off work and walks
up that little path, up that little hill, up to the little
league field ... remember that red fence around the field
okay ... so i feel the vibe and turn around, and there is dad ...
i am shirley temple ... the first thing out of his mouth is,
"this one is coming to you, get ready ... it's a done deal,
it's coming right at you, don't let me down like the sissy,
faggot, loser i know you are" tel me more, tell me more, tell
me more, was he a heavy doper, or just a loser, he was a friend
of yours ... so sure enough, on the first pitch, it's a long drive
to center ... i see it hanging there ... a little white dove,
on a blue dream, and it hangs there for my entire life ... and dad
is back there saying, "here it comes, here it comes" ... i could
have caught that ball behind my back, basket style like willie mays,
i could have caught that ball in my sleep, i could have played
in the big leagues ... but instead i just stood there ...
the ball dropped two feet behind me ... and i just stood there ...
and dad disgustedly said, "pick it up mark" ... so i slowly turned
around and threw the ball like a girl, and bounced it into second ...
i don't know why ... i don't trust happiness, never did ... i wish
i knew why ... i can't, i can't, i can't, i can't, i can't, i can't,
i have to go to the can ... love ya, vibe, click ...
i see that little white dove hanging in the blue dream again
but this time dad isn't standing behind me, dad is the little
white dove and i am the blue dream, and i am wearing panties,
and winnie the pooh sucks (sorry i got carried away)
parrrring, hello, hello ... is this mark? yes, this is
tracy anne loveface and the people at tree said you are
an incredible writer and i'd love to know if you'd like to
cowrite ... well, you know i don't ...everybody says you're a
great lyricist and i don't write words. i can't breathe ...
lonely and hung over in nashville,