A Steaming Whatever

_ At the end of the day, it is best to leave the kitchen work to the professionals, Bob; and give them plenty of room.
_ Bobby ain't here.
_ " Swan; diver-bird, surpassing bright..."* It all comes down to the basics: Change changing change.
_ What the hell are you talking about?
_I'm not talking about anything, simply talking. Nothing makes any sense, absolutely no sense at all. I woke up this here morning convinced, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I was never born. What does that imply about the notion of death?
_ Th...
_ Please, please, please... save it for the Boy Scouts. I was told I was born; I'm told that I am to die. Nobody knows. I have witnessed more than a couple of 'births', and no one will ever convince me that what I witnessed was 'birth' - a beginning.
_ Ice cubes rattling around in a glass glass is annoying. I'm going to the next table to ask that person to leave, or to go sit outside. I would, upon my return, like to reach down your throat and rip out a generous armload of you vitals and fling them, like snot off a finger, into the garbage.
_ Your clearly uncomfortable around opinions in conflict with your own.
_ I have a major jones - a Major Tom Jones - for a steaming whatever, otherwise you may rest assured that I would see to your demise.
_ A steaming whatever... Make it two.

                                                                           <><><>

     ... Many of us think in terms of fate, or consequence, perhaps destiny. We feel entitled to a vague certainty - an open road, a happy birthday, a nice day; we've earned it. It all, however, points to nothing... The desire for a man for a woman... the trappings: beauty, warmth, wetness... all culminating within the colossal void housed within the milking vagina. And the man? Mind-shattering nothingness upon ejaculation. I think I'm going to go down to the cafe and tell a few jokes.

     ... I haven't paid for a haircut in over thirty years, unless I consider the amount of money I've spent on gas for lawnmowers. The only reason I paid for a haircut, as an adult, was the beautiful airiness of the woman who cut my hair, descending around me, as would a gentle summer rain descend upon a flower. She died.

photo credit

* The Thirteen Principal Upanishads translated by Robert Ernest Hume