[Milton-L] Is Paradise Lost

jonnyangel junkopardner at comcast.net
Thu Apr 16 05:38:37 EDT 2009


> ³Why do you insult Shakespeare? So far as I know, he is never, never, never,
> never, never referred to as "Bill." "Will," perhaps, self-referentially and in
> over-plus.²
> - Nancy Charlton

Well, I guess you know ³now², because you heard me call him ³Bill².
So now that that is out of the way, lemme tell you a funny [but true] story
about me and Bill. 

When I was strung out in 1989, I decided to give college a shot. I went to
[fill in the blank school] and majored in theater. The theater was housed
within the hallowed walls of the Humanities building that was built many
years before I was born. There was a massive portrait of Bill bolted into
the concrete wall outside the theater and, well...I wanted it. So late at
night after rehearsals, I would tug on it to see if he had any give in him,
but he never budged. So over the following semester, I would grab him by
both sides of his frame and literally walk up the wall, putting all my
weight against it while trying to free him - but he still wouldn¹t budge,
and he never blinked. It¹s like he was staring at something I just couldn¹t
see. But I kept working on him, night after night, for weeks and weeks.
Then, one night after a bad rehearsal, I pulled a bottle of Mezcal out of my
backpack and went diving for the worm, because I had made up my mind that
that M-F¹er was coming off the wall that night. So I grabbed the sides of
his massive frame and walked up the wall again, rocking back and forth.
Eventually, he snapped under my persistence and weight, but I was about 4
feet up his wall and the impact when I hit the ground was commensurate with
the height that I had reached. All I really remember was hitting the ground
and not being able to breath. I was there for a few minutes, covered in
concrete dust with his massive face lying on my chest as Led Zeppelin¹s
³When the Levee Breaks² pounded my vestibular system into submission. But I
still had the wits enough to run with him to my crappy 1969 VW beetle
outside, where I threw him the back and drove (somewhat erratically) to my
cockroach infested apartment. I put him on the top of my fridge, and then I
passed out. When I woke up, I was having trouble breathing because ( as I
later was told)  I had fractured two ribs in the fall. When I got home from
the doctor, I measured the dust covered bolts hanging from the back of his
frame, and they measured about 1 1/2 inches thick and 12 inches long. When I
made it back to the Humanities Building some time later, the only thing I
saw on the wall where he had been held prisoner for so long was a bright
spot. He had been on that wall for so long that the brightest paint only
existed because the elements couldn¹t penetrate through his massive frame.
Well...I fixed that.
At the end of that semester in 89, I went on a world tour with him in tow.
The University had a bounty on his head (and mine) from the time I placed
him on the top of my fridge. So when I took him to Laguna Beach with me, I
dug him into the sand and faced him toward the sun sinking over Catalina
Island, while duck taping his mouth shut and wrapping his frame in rope. I
took a picture of him with a crappy Polaroid Land Camera from the 70¹s, and
wrote a letter in ³Bill-speak² to the University that had placed a handsome
reward for his return (and a larger reward for the apprehension of his
kidnapper). I wrote to them in the Elizabethan speak that their loins quiver
for like saliva pulsating from the lips of a Pavlovian dog. I told them that
Bill was doing fantastic. I¹m sure that the picture of him bound and gagged
didn¹t look so good to whomever was checking the mail that day, but I also
knew that Bill had never seen the sun sinking over Catalina Island before.
And  I can vaguely remember him mumbling though his duck taped mouth that it
was the most beautiful thing he¹d ever seen in all the years that he had
hung screwed into a concrete wall of academia with 12 inch bolts, with
nothing to look at but hallways that lead to nothing. And everywhere I went,
from the exotic to the mundane, I took him along and photographed him in
those locations and wrote Elizabethan letters to the University that I
rescued him from. I would place the letters (along with his Polaroid's) into
a an envelope, and send it to the University - just to let them know that no
matter where he was, he was faring much better than he ever had when he was
bolted into their wall.

Going down now, 

jonnyangel 









On 4/16/09 1:40 AM, "Nancy Charlton" <ncharlton2009 at hotmail.com> wrote:

> 
> 
> jonnyangel said:
>> > 
>> > 1. Milton vs. Shakespeare as a "poet" (even though Bill wasn't much of a
>> > poet, especially next to Milton)
> 
> Why do you insult Shakespeare? So far as I know, he is never, never, never,
> never, never referred to as "Bill." "Will," perhaps, self-referentially and in
> over-plus.
> 
> Nancy Charlton
> 
> 
> Windows Live: Keep your life in sync. Check it out.
> <http://windowslive.com/explore?ocid=TXT_TAGLM_WL_allup_1a_explore_042009>
> 
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