Photo Op: The Silent Period
From 1976 to 1980, Miles Davis rarely left his house. He stopped playing his horn entirely. His life revolved solely around two addictions: sex and cocaine. My life has become a mirror of that of Davis’, provided you substitute a hacked version of a 15-year-old nintendo game for the copious sex and cocaine. As in early college, Dr. Mario has become my life. And my grades are once again suffering as a result.
I leave the house rarely. Last night I was hustled for $5 by an enterprising mariachi in Boyle Heights. $5 can buy you a lot of things, and while Cielito Lindo is certainly one of them, it might not have been my first choice. A week ago I helped an old Jewish woman carry eight bags of groceries up a narrow flight of stairs. With but those two exceptions, this cathode ray screen awash with pills of primary colors be all I’ve seen in a fortnight.
One day I will die, undiscovered and untested, the greatest Dr. Mario player in the history of the world. And a great wailing chorus of red, blue, yellow, and combination red-and-blue, and red-and-yellow, and blue-and-yellow pills will cry out, mourning a man who’d owned them since the day he discovered them. And the three evil viruses will dance and laugh long and hard, comprehending that I’ve shed my mortal coil, leaving them to roam the earth undoctored. In the end, the sickness shall prevail.
Item of interest:Losanjealous has taken an intern. Stay tuned for the debut of Mair the Intern, one of the greatest, most natural food reviewers to be found in the space-that-is-cyber.