He Couldn't Love

Henry sitting in a chair on his apartment's balcony all afternoon— enjoying the last rays of sun on an Indian Summer day— smoking a hashed laced joint, in a cozy dream, wanting to stay there.

8PM, the night air pulling him, there was a hidden secret at the end of it that was impossible to know. It was a beautiful women stripping slowly, never taking it all off. 

Out the door of his Queen’s apartment by 830PM, stopping by Chaim’s Deli to eat. He sat in the same booth and gave his order to the same waitress every night. 

Ruby his waitress getting real close to him, her face almost on his face. She says, “You know Henry I love you with all I have baby and want you, but you're a empty page when it comes to love.” Henry taken back says, “Jesus Christ Ruby are you going to take my order or slobber all over me?” He orders potato pancakes with apple sauce and a Vernor’s ginger ale which he spikes with cough syrup.  

Henry knew he was a slob when it came to love, that he could neither accept or give love. Love for him was kissing May at Siam Massage while getting a hand-job. 

Leaving Chaim’s and catching a taxi across town to Times Square, he sees “8 1/2” the Federico Fellini film is playing at the New Amsterdam Theater. He was just in time for the last show. 

The cowboy junky who was always under the marquee sees Henry and says, “I have mind blowing liquid heroin I’m selling in small blue vials” and “Henry you don’t know how to love, maybe this Italian film will teach you a lesson in humility and love.” Henry thinking, what the fuck, how would he know? 

Sitting in the back row he pours the vial of liquid heroin into a cup of iced Coca-Cola, before long he's off to elysian fields.

“8 1/2” a highly visual and fast moving film within a film. A view from behind the director and the cameraman and a view of Italian fancy, pasta eating and love mixed with an overload of bouncy, kaleidoscopic, om-pa-pa circus music in the background.  

Henry way deep into the opium, his libido, eros and anima magically linking with that of the “8/12” lead character Guido, Marcello Mastroianni. Guido and Henry on a mountain top standing before God, their souls laid bare for Him to see. (God looking like Sigmund Feud). 

God asking the pair— both staring blankly, dumb-fucked, “Did you have sex with your mothers?” And saying “You clowns don't know how to love, you're guilty of having sex out of wedlock. Say the Hale Mary prayer on every bead of the rosary over and over until your fingers bleed and your minds become numb.” 

“8 1/2” was without a proper ending. Guido, Fellini, the cameraman and the nympho prostitute Saraghina ending up where they began, no-where. 

Henry an atheist without a rosary to bleed on, unable to love, he couldn’t feel love. 

Did he have sex with his mother? Was he repressing the memory of it in his deep subconscious? The shrink he visited once a month at the welfare office was no fucking help—

In all things love, Henry was hopeless. 

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