Ballad of Carlos Monzon: Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads

filly Come across the street when you’re done. What is the wish? A local book? Are you sure you want to read outloud like that? I thought I was easy and you talk big and tough but you’re just out to save your skin. Me too. At the pool with the rich and mighty a little patience represents solid months work. What about eating? I have a view over the hunting season and in any kind of weather stand by. I fancy seeing you here. Pale pastel shades become me and I drink to excess. Mr Connor (say) looks fine and tawny. It’s money – just more than enough to be generous to a fault and with it I can be an attractive scold. Where are the damned high priests? Your nakedness is a nice story for spies. The moon is fancied. You’re becoming everything you bought. Are you remote or far beneath? What contempt is it that gives you frailty? A special objection is always worth waiting on. We could swim. Have we time? Quick to the helm and easy to handle until dry rot carves a different way is boat stuff. What I meant was that it’s been too long to represent something and too solemn. The fact of some people doesn’t offend me, but the fact of others…? First, what goes without saying always needs saying. Second, run along. Third, your smooth run down the coast of Maine is amusing, undignified and attractive. Do you strike attitudes? Did you? The reluctance to grow old is something devotional. Foolish affection has only a bronze heart. I’m inside a chipped ego. I took Shannon McCauley’s face without asking and afterwards used it to kiss the moon in a river, let go and it drowned. So now what I was saying was the wrong way round. Maybe I was leaving you again and again and again. No joke. Cinderella makes even me my own equal. In the talking room I considered very personal questions. You were resentful but forgiving. You see through fake. Don’t get used. Who is both colossal and unique and momentous? My suicide will be hilarious and fail. Far away couldn’t be anything you could really wish for. I tell you what: let’s swim out and feel fine. You can’t do it. You don’t match up. The time to make up your mind about these people is going to be someone else’s. I try and get around more but stay intolerant. Geraniums make handsome arrogance. They are lower than insultance. There’s your magnificence. And your self-conscience that isn’t bronze. I would have kept talking but I hit a dead end. What about your feet of clay and who’s in your pocket? Are you a prowler? Well, you just photograph well and I have a lot to learn. I don’t want to get in your way so don’t try to get funny but go to bed. Please. How are the mighty? Forgetful. Fallen. Fornicational. The implication of eyes cancels imagination. Everyone’s in better shape than I am and I thought goodnight would be a scream. I don’t know which page of history this is. There’s gibberish and well into the morning it continues like a bad dream. A bad dream is just a bride lost to things to come. Also I think you were robbed. Tell the one about popping pennies off dead Irish. I’m standing solidly with something heavy in my arms, guessing that this was never more than a dream. There’s always just cause. If I’m a disappointment it must be today. Don’t worry. I’m going to try and make all situations well and want to go through with things. What time is it? Let’s drink the same again. Nothing was ever the terrible thing you thought you’d done to me. Without saying something - anything - you called me an unholy mess. Never forget. You’re ever good at the bright work. And easy virtue is hopeless. Yours turns around. It is, doubtless in the light of day, the dark of night, haywire. I’ll do my best to make you most happy. You, me beholden. It’ll be perfect. I have a true way in mind. Thanks.