The following rant is an exclusive, barely edited, and somewhat embarrassing transcript culled from the deep archives of my iPhone notepad. It was summer 2011 when I wrote this, and I was several beers in at a bar in northeast Pennsylvania. Given my track record at that place, I was probably drinking Murphy’s Irish Stout. It was an otherwise unremarkable night, and if I hadn’t written anything at the time, I’d likely have forgotten it forever. As it is, I remember observing the people around me and feeling moved to say something about it.
Without further ado, then, here’s my rather drunken answer to Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”:
Organic matter at the bar, shifting shape and constantly on the move, laughing, chortling, flirting, smiling, nursing a beer or a vodka tonic. I lift my head from my beer and my shot, and the world is new. There's nothing stranger than seeing a man who's in the early stages of growing a mustache. It seems like a mistake at first glance. At second glance, too. Sometimes I rest my phone by my nuts, and I freak out a little, you know? Like, am I blasting weird 3G shit at my nuts? Will they become a hotspot? Ha, I jest. But seriously, there's always cancer to contend with. Note to self: don't use the word "innocuous" in casual conversation in quasi-rural PA towns.
There you have it. I emailed it to myself for this post and noticed my modified iPhone signature was included. I think it's an appropriate epitaph for your consideration:
Sent from my iPhone; please forgive any misspellings or grammatical errors