June 16, 2012
Tom Waits is a musician, performer, song writer, poet, actor. God knows what else. But what I love about him is his poetry. Its street poetry. With a little show biz thrown in. There’s a little con in Tom which makes his work both interesting and in case someone takes it too seriously, amusing. He is a unique and precious gift.
Frank’s Wild Years
Well Frank settled down in the Valley and hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife’s forehead he sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed a $30,000 loan at 15 1/4 % and put down payment on a little two bedroom place his wife was a spent piece of used jet trash made good bloody marys kept her mouth shut most of the time had a little Chihuahua named Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind. They had a thoroughly modern kitchen self-cleaning oven (the whole bit) Frank drove a little sedan they were so happy One night Frank was on his way home from work, stopped at the liquor store, picked up a couple Mickey’s Big Mouths drank ’em in the car on his way to the Shell station, he got a gallon of gas in a can, drove home, doused everything in the house, torched it, parked across the street, laughing, watching it burn, all Halloween orange and chimney red then Frank put on a top forty station got on the Hollywood Freeway headed north Never could stand that dog.
A very odd film called Big Time