Flaskaland
Saturday, January 01, 2011
 
I mean I could understand why he might want a career in show biz. As a teenager, he'd worked in a gas station at night and got to see the nightly parade of weird LA night people come through the station. One car, a group of young women. And when he flipped open the lid to fuel their tank, he read the sign they'd painted on the inside of the small door: "We trade ass for gas".

And he had a bout of hard manual labor shoveling gravel and sand for a friend's father, who had started a landscaping business to fill out the lots of the new big houses being built in the Valley. And not wanting to shovel gravel and sand any longer, he took on a job selling cars at a car lot. But before that because he got along with animals, he took care of dogs at a laboratory that was developing Ritalin and other pharmaceuticals.

None of us in any kind of way were suited in any way for everyday life. Every day life was full of stupid jobs, if not backbreaking labor or cruel work. More so especially if, like this young man, there was no college degree or skill set in hand to fall back on. We were all just like Harry Haller in a way, in terms of being misfits, just like Harry except for the transcendant metaphysical part that we were all secretly wishing for. Harry was lucky, I would say to myself. At least he had a Magic Theater.
 




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Compiling the best online articles about music so there will be more of both in the future. In periods of drought, the reader will be innundated by my own blogs on the matters.

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