The Old Wound
H. L. Anthanoose
His eye caught the picture hanging on the wall next to him. It was of a beautiful man’s face, if it could be called a face, for other faces pale in comparison to this one true face – a face that caused other, at the sight of it, to refer to their own faces as “mugs” or “eye holders” or even “head condoms”… No, no condoms, they would think, we’re raw dogging this one. The face in the portrait looking – glancing even, to the right with high cheekbones, a face like the love child of the devil and an angel; a face that could only be described as celestial; a face that could only be named Huey. It was amazing, gorgeous even; a portrait of Huey Lewis looking his absolute best, and then, his heart leaping high from his freshly shorn chest, hairless and glistening, he realized it was not a portrait at all. It was in fact a mirror, and he was Huey. Lewis. And he was the best at what he does. The Best. And that was writing amazing smash songs instantly entered into the annals of musical history – nay, World History – songs like Hip To Be Square, one of the greatest songs he had ever heard. And others. He had known people to collapse in quivering ecstasy and spontaneous orgasms having heard it. His heart hurt thinking about what his talent had wrought and what it had given him, Huey Lewis. Huey Lewis. It was an old injury, his heartache, his cardiac empathy – an injury that flared up every time he realized just how much money he had and what a problem it was. He had to write a new hit. He pressed his pen to paper, and suddenly, transcending, as often happened when inspiration flushed from his brain, the splendid, endless circuitry of his neural galaxy that was more of a holy light behind his smoldering face. Another gift to the world ejaculated from his soul and when he regained his senses, he looked down upon the page before him and his heart thumped and the old injury returned to him. “No!” he cursed aloud in the voice that makes God jealous. “Another masterwork of genius. Another greatest song of all time.” He hesitated wondering if the defenseless world was ready to have their ears penetrated by a ineffable aria. Again. Another reason-to-live for the musical world to both curse the name Huey Lewis whilst simultaneously wishing they could feel his lips upon theirs, men and women alike. The title and tune rang from his holy light within his face and he mouthed the words in awe: “I Want a New Drug”. God it was incredible being Huey Lewis. Huey. Lewis. Fucking incredible.
The picture smiled.
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