The Resurrection Of The Body
2-22-06 Wednesday Morning
She was a real ball-buster according to the gas station attendant who filled up my car with ethyl. And I never asked him for anything let alone his opinion on women-----any women at all. I never seek alternative views on women. I like to find out things for myself in my own way. And, yes, I may take a beating in the bedroom but I'll do it on my own terms. Besides, everybody takes a beating in the bedroom. One way or another. There is no such thing as a 100 % pain-less intercourse. O, no. Somebody's gotta pay Dr. Freud. Man & woman were born to squiggle on the mattress. So wake up, dreamers of the Lotus Land of no guilt. Heaven is short lived in the kingdom of sex. And, come monday morning that damned alarm clock I bought on sale at Sears is going to riot before the sun has showed its mug. And I'll will be face to face once more with The White Page. Others less fortunate than us will be wrapping their eyes around the b.s. of the L.A. Times the N. Y. Times or the local Crapper Sheets. In one eye-----out the brain shaft. The usual suspects. Just NOTHING worth storing in the permanent Memory Warehouse. But, you, Lady Muse & me---we have a date with the gods. We have busines to comport that may take us to the city of immortal promises & mortal temptations. And I'm not sure which is the worst. I keep changing my mind on this one. Right now the jury is out and I am leaning strongly toward "the Mysterious Unknown." Well--I am looking for surprises. That has to mean a woman. Isn't that why we roll over and hit the deck when the alarm goes bonkers at 6 a.m.? Who asked for it? We did. You & me made a bargain with Aphrodite Eros & Pallas Athene. We cut a deal. And now the Real Fun begins. I kissed her in the Beginning. The beginning is a place, not a time. Why do I have to explain all these obviousnesses? Because, obviously, a lot of you like me flunked kindergarten and had more fun the second time around the block. And, because we're all fucked up by talk radio-t.v. marathon brain-dead gas mugs like O'Reilly & Chris Mathews. So, since The Big Picture is off your wave length, here goes nuthin. Are you still under the spell of 99-cent therapy ala Dr. Phil, Oprah's little errand boy? I hope you're free of that rot t Of course you can get Oprah herself straight off the bucket M through F. But then why not just turn off t.v. and drink a gallon of ice cold coke and freeze your brain on pilot? Because you have just entered the city limits of: PLEASANTVILLE, USA, circa, February, 2006, Annus Domini. And let me be very clear here in Pleasantville nobody varies from The Main Script, which is to say, Company Policy. Ergo, no laissez-faire Opportunism is permitted hereabouts in the realm of sex, art, religion or commerce. The city-state owns your ass, Buster. And the word signifying Eff-You-See-Kay is not listed in The Company Handbook. Therefore it does not exist. No erections or palpitations between 6 a.m. and midnight Sunday through Saturday. Our business is Education. Study your Bibles. Memorize your Bibles. Regurgitate your Bibles three times/day, minimum. Say the Organization Prayer out loud when you get behind the wheel of your vehicle at all times. We are a unanimous one-religion nation. No substitute deities will be honored. Ergo, be sure to alert your children to all forms of subversion imported by "foreigners." Be on the lookout not merely for "desert tribes" but also The Mediterranean Influence designed to seduce via the subtleties of the kitchen table. Olive oil may be a pretext for something evil and subterranean especially Cold-Pressed Extra Virgin---a deadly double combination.
Watch out by all means for "Health Foods." This term is a colossal red herring. By the way, have you ever served Red Herring at your own table for a Special Occasion-----daughter's graduation party-----husband's successful completion of 6-month Plan To Quit Swearing At The Television Set? It works. Why else is a red herring Red if not to wave a red flag on your picnic? Like I say: Wake up and smell the popcorn. Is it liberated of human contaminants? Probably not. Dump in trash bin. Start over from your own garden. (This can get damned tedious if you are without a sensuous companion). Equestrian habits die hard. Don't divulge any secrets. This is a hard & fast Law. Life is almost completely an undiscovered Secret. Totally impervious to familial investigations. But then again, where has Incest ever got us in this whole shish kabab? Up one cul de sac avenue, down the other: an endless grid of dead-end roads. That should tell us something. What happens when every hair on your head is a dead end? Well, if you are working on a minimum of one cylinder you get your tail to the barber shop & you tell the barber to lop off all your dead ends and feed em to the Shredder. Get out of here! It's Spring, baby. The Valentine is history. Time for Easter Eggs. The Easter Bunny. And Resurrection of the dead. So my advice to you is push that six feet worth of dirt off your face. Kick away that damned hunk of concrete advertising your death and: Rise, Captain, Rise---be you Woman or be you Man---Rise up out of the Slough & take a mouthful of fresh air & commence breathing. It may take something Special-----a Greenfield slap in the mug for you to really experience CIRCULATION, Actual Movement of The Blood. But then again you may be better off where you are---six feet under & deliciously Unconscious to everything---Everything! Especially your own sweet death. Toast: I raise my glass to your surrender.
RLG
She was a real ball-buster according to the gas station attendant who filled up my car with ethyl. And I never asked him for anything let alone his opinion on women-----any women at all. I never seek alternative views on women. I like to find out things for myself in my own way. And, yes, I may take a beating in the bedroom but I'll do it on my own terms. Besides, everybody takes a beating in the bedroom. One way or another. There is no such thing as a 100 % pain-less intercourse. O, no. Somebody's gotta pay Dr. Freud. Man & woman were born to squiggle on the mattress. So wake up, dreamers of the Lotus Land of no guilt. Heaven is short lived in the kingdom of sex. And, come monday morning that damned alarm clock I bought on sale at Sears is going to riot before the sun has showed its mug. And I'll will be face to face once more with The White Page. Others less fortunate than us will be wrapping their eyes around the b.s. of the L.A. Times the N. Y. Times or the local Crapper Sheets. In one eye-----out the brain shaft. The usual suspects. Just NOTHING worth storing in the permanent Memory Warehouse. But, you, Lady Muse & me---we have a date with the gods. We have busines to comport that may take us to the city of immortal promises & mortal temptations. And I'm not sure which is the worst. I keep changing my mind on this one. Right now the jury is out and I am leaning strongly toward "the Mysterious Unknown." Well--I am looking for surprises. That has to mean a woman. Isn't that why we roll over and hit the deck when the alarm goes bonkers at 6 a.m.? Who asked for it? We did. You & me made a bargain with Aphrodite Eros & Pallas Athene. We cut a deal. And now the Real Fun begins. I kissed her in the Beginning. The beginning is a place, not a time. Why do I have to explain all these obviousnesses? Because, obviously, a lot of you like me flunked kindergarten and had more fun the second time around the block. And, because we're all fucked up by talk radio-t.v. marathon brain-dead gas mugs like O'Reilly & Chris Mathews. So, since The Big Picture is off your wave length, here goes nuthin. Are you still under the spell of 99-cent therapy ala Dr. Phil, Oprah's little errand boy? I hope you're free of that rot t Of course you can get Oprah herself straight off the bucket M through F. But then why not just turn off t.v. and drink a gallon of ice cold coke and freeze your brain on pilot? Because you have just entered the city limits of: PLEASANTVILLE, USA, circa, February, 2006, Annus Domini. And let me be very clear here in Pleasantville nobody varies from The Main Script, which is to say, Company Policy. Ergo, no laissez-faire Opportunism is permitted hereabouts in the realm of sex, art, religion or commerce. The city-state owns your ass, Buster. And the word signifying Eff-You-See-Kay is not listed in The Company Handbook. Therefore it does not exist. No erections or palpitations between 6 a.m. and midnight Sunday through Saturday. Our business is Education. Study your Bibles. Memorize your Bibles. Regurgitate your Bibles three times/day, minimum. Say the Organization Prayer out loud when you get behind the wheel of your vehicle at all times. We are a unanimous one-religion nation. No substitute deities will be honored. Ergo, be sure to alert your children to all forms of subversion imported by "foreigners." Be on the lookout not merely for "desert tribes" but also The Mediterranean Influence designed to seduce via the subtleties of the kitchen table. Olive oil may be a pretext for something evil and subterranean especially Cold-Pressed Extra Virgin---a deadly double combination.
Watch out by all means for "Health Foods." This term is a colossal red herring. By the way, have you ever served Red Herring at your own table for a Special Occasion-----daughter's graduation party-----husband's successful completion of 6-month Plan To Quit Swearing At The Television Set? It works. Why else is a red herring Red if not to wave a red flag on your picnic? Like I say: Wake up and smell the popcorn. Is it liberated of human contaminants? Probably not. Dump in trash bin. Start over from your own garden. (This can get damned tedious if you are without a sensuous companion). Equestrian habits die hard. Don't divulge any secrets. This is a hard & fast Law. Life is almost completely an undiscovered Secret. Totally impervious to familial investigations. But then again, where has Incest ever got us in this whole shish kabab? Up one cul de sac avenue, down the other: an endless grid of dead-end roads. That should tell us something. What happens when every hair on your head is a dead end? Well, if you are working on a minimum of one cylinder you get your tail to the barber shop & you tell the barber to lop off all your dead ends and feed em to the Shredder. Get out of here! It's Spring, baby. The Valentine is history. Time for Easter Eggs. The Easter Bunny. And Resurrection of the dead. So my advice to you is push that six feet worth of dirt off your face. Kick away that damned hunk of concrete advertising your death and: Rise, Captain, Rise---be you Woman or be you Man---Rise up out of the Slough & take a mouthful of fresh air & commence breathing. It may take something Special-----a Greenfield slap in the mug for you to really experience CIRCULATION, Actual Movement of The Blood. But then again you may be better off where you are---six feet under & deliciously Unconscious to everything---Everything! Especially your own sweet death. Toast: I raise my glass to your surrender.
RLG
posted by rlg at 12:47 PM
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