HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. Is where the lungs and bowels and kidneys is. Feast I do, in the dungeons of the Presidio and across Alameda County at the quarries and mines. Also underwater through the new transbay tube, in the empty moorings of seabound navy vessels. Lonely, cozy, dozy home. I pick pieces of sunken druggies and washed-up drownees from my teeth with redwood tree.
When I say something it's so it happens. You see, I can't control my diabolical, telekinetic impulses. Always has to be all-or-nothing. So I have to be careful if I even think something evil ( offence, vengeance, or simple impulse) to hold back with all my stamina or it suddenly, irreversibly happens. Patience is a vice, when in evil's best interest.
When Mick made off to Australia just after our contract and Brian's death, I fumed at that immaturity in the face of responsibility. Killed six midwest innocents on Independence Day. Within a year I'll hit four more Ohioans, I fathom, but by murder instead of the elements.
I know he's scared of commitment. Hell, Mick's right about what it's like to know me personally. It's like meeting a famous actor or finding a lifelong love: at first, you're absolutely gaga over your good fortune and can't believe it's actually happening. Pinch me! Then you get acclimated and it's like conjugal monotony or the nonplussing experience of a roadie or a bag man . . . man! what a squalid life that celebrity leads! Or is the correct term " serves"?
Still, I let him slide on his first slip: Mick fucks up the Hyde Park show--what was supposed to be an inauguration of my candidacy for counter culture king--and turns it into a bloomers-and-butterflies affair evocative of the other party's dove-of-peace-slash-placid-waters rap. Even invited him into headquarters and let him have a go at some of the gadgets. But then he hot-foot it out of town without even calling his old man!
Ha! thought he could get away by running down under--forgetting my role in practically founding the island penitentiary for his people, plus promoting pygmy paganism for a million years previous! When he didn't get my first message--allowing his lady to almost fly--then skipped out on the ultimatum to prod that hippie fest upstate in my favorite Empire, I just about blew up!
Jagger the upstart ingenue required a swift and unsubtle message. *