Because I may hole up and not get to the Bakehouse to continue the Zing-blogging, due to the big snowstorm coming, I'll just put up a poem written by one of the characters of the novel I'm writin', named Crazy Mike. Enjoy!
Big Willie sez, "Get yo ass outta bed!"
My little rounded life's sleep
Was ended by the crying havoc alarm,
So I let the dog slip outside,
And what is that dog good for? Absolutely Nothin' ! Say it again!
And leaving the shower, I forgot when,
I left my hair dryer with the guy in 2B...
Or was it not?... No, it was... What was the question?
The morning Post told me that there weren't enough Black Actors,
and I agreed, sickled o'er by thoughts of pale casts,
Sans eggs, sans bacon, sans toast, sans coffee(!),
I lugged my guts back into bed, to sleep,
Perchance to dream of devoutly wished consummations,
When I was re-awoke by the unmuffed sound of
My idiot neighbors' Plymouth Fury,
Which signified that I really should plan my life better and
Tomorrow I will clean out the fridge, and
Tomorrow I will make that dentist appointment and
Tomorrow I will eat more fruit for
I can no longer bear the stench of my own fardels,
Those "blasts from Hell," as my crazy girlfriend calls them,
As my thoughts turn to the East
Village and Julia and her son,
Both of whom are cool cats of infinite jest.
But where are their japes now, when I need them,
As I sit in this creeping petty pace of traffic going Uptown,
As I head towards the untimely death of life at work?