Over coffee with E-Ma Eric, he told me that I remind him of Ben Sachs from Paul Auster's "Leviathan." I was flattered of course, being a big fan of Auster, who can floor you when he's on, and break your heart when he's not. I was also a bit confused, never having really blown up anything of consequence. Besides, all my life I've been living like Larry Darrell. While aspiring to be Japhy Ryder.
It wasn't the first time I've been compared to a work of imagination. (Though aren't we all really, imagined into life by our parents?) Years back, in a Kobe bar long since flattened in the quake, my friend Mark said I reminded him of a cartoon character. I suppose he meant my vast range of facial expressions and exuberant way of communication. But Mark was cartoon-like in his actions. After all, this was on the night we were about to play William Tell with a dart, Mark's cigarette and far too much booze. The bartender leapt over and grabbed my arm just as I drew it back. I wouldn't have actually thrown it. I just wanted to see how far Mark would go. But I don't doubt the crazy fucker wouldn't have flinched, all the way up to the moment where the dart pierced his cheek.
On the turntable: Widespread Panic, "Uber Cobra"
On the nightable: Toni Morrison, "The Bluest Eye"
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