Baby I’m a Fool to Cry
Fool to cry… that’s some timeless shit. No West Wing, no whitebread HMS Pinafore leggy blonde bullshit… strictly a colored girls go doot da doot Lou Reed kind of thing and the question has been asked and answered regarding how many people of any color that I know that go doot-da-doot dad doot da doot hey baby, take a walk on the wild side… and if that’s an Oscar Wilde kind of thing well God save the Queen and ain’t it great to be an Englishman on this bright and foggy day…
I’ve been feeling bound up, creatively constipated, uptight about things when I should be fearless… can I scrape it together for Nashville, can I put together a trip to Seattle, why don’t I write it down and sell it to the only bidder, I mean maybe I should just write a letter to the governor.
Yes. That is the ticket. A letter to the governor indeed. He’ll be sooo glad to hear from me. But somebody’s gotta tell him and there’s no use to sit and ponder these insignificant patterns when there’s a truth to tell. Is there?
And how does real life differ from fanfic?
