about a month ago, i began to have a sneaking suspicion that my life had got a bit strange. last night, as i sat on the stoop of a church in conversation about subliminality with a slovenian man i'd met ten minutes prior on the street when he flagged me down to ask if i'd ever considered doing neo-futurist theater because my nose had the curvature and wisdom of a native american's, i realized that was an understatement.
because this does not happen. at least not when i'm listening to my ipod. as the slovenian- who was some sort of depaul theater/film/sketcher/slashie person preoccupied with putting everything on stage- repeated time and again, "this could not happen. we are so real that no one could ever believe we are being as real as we are being right now."
i didn't know what that meant. i'm quite sure he hadn't the faintest clue.
he smelled vaguely european and was missing a tooth.
he'd had six or seven scotch whiskeys and a drunk slovenian is a verbal trainwreck from which one cannot easily walk away. a drunk lapsed catholic slovenian who, thanks to my repeated protestations that i had to go home to bed because i had church in the morning, had at some point in our conversation arrived at a fervent belief that i was an angel sent by God proves somewhat more of a challenge.
while the slovenian stood on the church steps, shouting a pledge to meet his angel under the decorative lamppost in the alley, i finally slipped away. as i turned on to my street, his voice echoed in the darkness, lamenting that i was "such a mysterious fleeting thing of the night."
thanks to the six or seven scotch whiskeys, i do not think he will remember any of this.
but just in case, if i'm someday sitting at the pig with you or walking down fullerton and a slovenian comes barreling out of nowhere to bow at my feet, with an effusion of talk about angels and pinups and elvis and the night of unsatisfied lust we shared together on the old church steps. this is why that happened. this is what that was.