He was a ghost in the room orchestrating the turntables, painting the walls with the sound.

Peace says Fred Rogers, crazy enough to make you laugh. I had to quit that church to save my soul, says George Carlin, to save my soul, save my soul. And it keeps spinning spinning spinning like that.

Fore you know it Amadeo in your head wakes up atop three tiny café tables, one leather shoe and one bare foot, in a cobblestone square no idea. There's a rip in the button sweater and one elbow throbbing in his sleeve. And it keeps, it keeps spinning like that, keeps spinning like that.

He opens his eyes but they're black. Then they're not. He closes them and opens them. Black again. He does it three more times, Amadeo, doo-doo-doo-da-doo.

Café chairs and tables stacked up all around him, feels the metro somewhere far below, smells eggs, or sulfur, people moving among the paintings, I had to quit, I had to quit to save my soul.

30 June 2006


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