Oh, Robbie. You’ve got to find a new blade...
Outside the window is the back yard, and beyond that is a large bush, I don’t know what kind of bush it is; it’s just an amiable bush that sits there being green. If it were winter, the leaves wouldn’t be there, and I could see the white building beyond it, and read the chiseled inscription above the door: THIRD CHURCH OF CHRIST SCIENTIST.
Oh, Robbie. You’ve got to find a new blade
RECORDS
CAHOOTS
THE BAND
CAPITOL
Outside the window is the back yard, and beyond that is a large bush, I don’t know what kind of bush it is; it’s just an amiable bush that sits there being green. If it were winter, the leaves wouldn’t be there, and I could see the white building beyond it, and read the chiseled inscription above the door: THIRD CHURCH OF CHRIST SCIENTIST. I have always imagined that inside hangs a giant picture of the Prophet of Galilee, dressed in a lab coat, peering into a microscope. “Quick, Mr. Watson, I think I’ve discovered a cure for sin.”
If I swivel 180 degrees, I encounter a shit bookcase, filled with old Rolling Stones, contact sheets, old newspaper clippings I once considered significant, and a stack of random books (No One Waved Good-bye; The Kingdom and The Power; Goode’s World Atlas; Is Five). Propped up against the books, staring at me with boyish melancholy, is the gelatinous cover of the new Band album, which is called Cahoots. I put it there three days ago to inspire me.
It didn’t work.