Bad For Me. Bad For You

_ Listen. Do you hear? It's the ' there in your heart' song, written and performed by the son of Louise, Harry, and perhaps God himself, to say nothing of all the thems that done come before.... the thems that done come before. Gone now they are - to a man, to a woman - but not before giving birth to birth itself.

_ Birth to birth itself!?

_ Indeed. Someone had to. Only the dying, those crying with no hand to hold, can understand birth and the mindless futility of it all.

_ Am I to understand that the formal, literary plural of they bees thems?

_ In a world wherein we are condemned to freedom, yes.

_ Another bit of the dark has taken its ball and gone home. All glories to that which houses all glory, hopefully haricots bees green; apricots a different shade of black. All glories to the primeval ooze from which we all crawl, and to which we return screaming. How soon we forget.

_ Indubitably.

_ What good is understanding to the dying?

_ Consider the state of the world. What use of it is it to the living? It takes a walk of some distance to free oneself from a bad haircut - a walk of some miles.... miles and miles of miles and miles, like a trip through Kansas.... O my, there's someone here with us.

_ Yes. other customers.

_ Is that what they are? Is that who they are? Is that who thems bees? We must be them. It all sounds so simple yet how could it be so? I think they're ghosts here to clean up the mess of messes, the messesses of messes. A mess - me, you, them. Are we truly sacred simple soul wholly?

_ Soul wholly. And all else in the dumper.

_ Have I ever mentioned that my first girlfriend was a strumpet?

_ Mine was imaginary.

_ The soon-to-be dead lie living, crying with no hand to hold. Sometimes all it takes is a hand to assuage intense suffering.

_ I know. My first girlfriend was imaginary.

_ Is she still alive?

_ Very much so, jumping like a frog amongst lily pads - a different man every day.

_ You seem quite pleased with yourself. And how could you not be? You've drug another bit of sublime repartee into the gutter.

_ Drig, drag, drug.... him, ham, hum. Blah, blah, blah.... I didn't know you owned the alphabet.

_ I'm not saying that I own anything, but it is nice, on occasion, to proceed in a somewhat orderly fashion when conversing.

_ Who says I'm conversing? I say whatever I say solely apropos of the moment. Are you listening?

_ I hear. I don't always listen. I hear. Did you say something?

_ Yes.

_ I saw an old lady on a gurney in the hall of a nursing home the other day; a mere shell. She was contorted and fully given to crying. It was, to my eyes, desperately beautiful, as few things truly are. A choir of angels hovered nearby, silently voicing harmony to her grief; for it is grief that alerts the angels, not the petty victories of those convinced of the authenticity of our dominion within this realm. I moved on only to return three times. I don't know that I had ever before encountered such integrity. Desperately beautiful... surely such suffering portends of bliss beyond the ken of our understanding.

_ How would you recognize that which you had never encountered?

_ Consider the faces that appear out of thin air.... faces immediately familiar in their strangeness.

_ It's brutally cold out.

_ Punishing. The winter has been punishing.

_ And will continue to be so. I remember once walking through a parking lot on a day such as this. I came upon a child of the Most High who stopped to engage me briefly.

_ Indeed such weather only allows for brief engagements.

_ He told me how such cold makes a man feel as would a bum, a bum being hustled along by a cop with a more than willing hickory stick rapping against his leathered palm. I mumbled something and greased up my Beatle boots, keeping moving.

_ Again with the Beatle boots.... I assume you like Beatle boots.

_ What's not to like?

_ Twice-baked bread and Murphy's water sauce served through a grate in a steel door.... that's what's not to like.

_ Jimmy Summ, gimme some diesel fee-yoo-ul. Gimme some diesel fuel!

_ Chug-a-lug.

_ Everybody's sorry these days. That's why I'm single - I can't find an unapologetic woman. It's gotten so bad that sorrow is now announced: Sorry, we're closed. Why would you be sorry you were closed? There's signs hanging everywhere - Sorry, we're closed.

_ If they see you coming in they'll be sorry they're open.

_ I wouldn't know. I don't look back.

_ Nor does the Sun, majestic orb that it be. Shedding its light in all directions; giving life to all in equal measure. Trembling, pulsing; breathing life's fire, yet never sweating. Yon Sun never sweats.

_ It pants.... yonder orb pants.

_ Of course it does! Why didn't I think of that.... The Sun pants.

_ No one's ever going to plant a flag on the Sun. That's why it's my kind of planet. You know what? I could really go for a Pall Mall right about now.

_ Smoke 'em if'n you got 'em - balls that is.

_ Oh I've the balls; however I must pace myself as I'm only two dukes to the good. Make no mistake about it though: I've the balls.... I once bummed a smoke off of my uncle when I was nine years old and fired it up right after I laid my knife and fork to rest of a Sunday dinner. Right at the dinner table... my father about shit.

_ And?

_ My uncle ran a little interference for me while I got a good lungful. I don't know what the big deal was. Apparently my parents couldn't reconcile themselves to the fact that once the cord was cut I, and they, were on our own, with only the tentative bond of social graces holding the whole show together. I clipped the duke and stuffed it into my shirt pocket. It's not like I asked to be born.

_ You must have been a real joy to your parents.

_ My parents? They both had navels. If you're looking outward instead of inward once you have kids suffice to say you've missed the boat. They too were someone's children. You know what I mean? Whatever stripes they had on their shoulders they put there themselves. I don't get too caught up in all that.

_ You don't have any children do you?

_ Do I look crazy?

_ You look like someone who would benefit mightily from a nice long walk alone. Alright? Does that answer your query?

_ A good lung-full and then, with smoke billowing out from every hole in my skull, I clipped it - barehanded. I pinched it right between my forefinger and thumb. It wasn't my first schmog; and the next one ain't gonna be my last. No sir, and no ma'am.

_ Has-been's and ne'er-were's.... Do you know Andre Preneuer?

_ I don't know anyone. Not you, not him; nobody. I don't expect a lot of people at my funeral. There'll be no need to break out the folding chairs.

_ The old lady was so tiny. I doubt she ever gave herself so fully to a lover as she did to her cries, to her grief. The rending, with her hand little more than skin and bone, gouged my heart and erased my mind. Got a smoke.

_ My last one.

_ Thanks.

_ My pleasure. Chai?

_ Make it a double - I've a navel.

                                                                      *********

.... Make nice with the machines.

.... Stardust everywhere; everyone.

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The One Without A Second

_ It's the last; it's the first; it's the best. It's number one, ichiban. It's the greatest. It's new and improved, three times faster than the fastest. It's you, Bobby; it's all you - your life, your times, your oyster.

_ Bobby ain't here. He's wrestling with some tertiary life-forms. He's attempting, yet again, to climb out of the gutter. He knows... Bobby knows... and that's why he doesn't quit. It's in with the bad air and out with the good when Bobby fills his balloon. He floats far, far away. It was long ago he untethered his balloon from the pack and no one has seen him since. He don't quit - he can't. He sold something he doesn't - didn't - own: his soul.

_ I should slap your face.

           A mirror appeared out of nowhere. A face was slapped. It, strange as it may seem, was the wrong face.

_ I hope you feel better.

_ It's enough to feel. Let's not get into good, better and best.

_ It's San Andreas fault.

_ Sam? Sam Andreas? The Sam Andreas?

_ San.

_ Oh.

_ Oh?

_ That's right.

_ I should punch you in the nose.

         A mirror appeared out of nowhere. A nose was punched. It, strange as it may seem, was the wrong nose.

_ I hope you feel better.

_ It's enough to feel. Let's not get into good, better and best.

_ It's Yoko Ono's fault.

_ Southside! Johnnie South Dakota! Cure me of this madness. Drip, drip, drip. It's loading in like left-handed relations come the dark days of early summer. Drip, drip, drip. Save me, Sausage, save my slithering soul.

_ Oh my gawd. OMG. I can't stand it anymore! I wanna bust out of this prison, see what life is like on the outside. Hand me the wrench of wrenches!

_ Here's a blunt head screwdriver.

_ It looks like a ball-pean hammer.

_ It's a chicken without a head. Use it to bash down the walls, like Barnacle Bill did with his balls.

        A wall appeared out of nowhere. Someone hit Barnacle Bill in the balls with a ball-pean hammer. He - Barnacle Bill - wished they were the wrong balls.

_ Pean. His fur resembled ermine, with black flecks of gold on the ground.

_ Herman?

_ She ain't here. A winsome lass - hair everywhere.

_ Why I oughta sock you in the eye.

      An eye appeared out of nowhere. Someone socked a wall. It, strange as it may seem, was the wrong mirror.

_ Look! It's the One without a second!

_ Where?

_ Here.

_ Here?

_ Here.

_ I'm more better. I thought I was lost. That was scary.

_ Scary? Indiana? La-la-la-la-larry. Larry? Larry Indiana. Please report to the poop deck.

_ Where?

_ I don't know where. I couldn't say for sure. Maybe in the ana. It's windy they-a. Windy, leading to confusion.

_ What do you know?

_ Nothing. All I know is that it was somewhere; and it was scary. But I'm more better, honest.

_ You know what this means, don't you?

_ If it's different from anything I've thought, said, or did, no. No, I don't.

_ No?

_ You heard me. No.

_ Yes. Of course I heard you. Are you implying that I am not listening?

_ How could I? I've kissed a lot of turnbuckles. I, apart from thinking, saying and doing, don't know how to imply.

_ Say something and mean something else.

_ What?

_ You heard me. Say something but mean something else. It's easy.

_ But? But-but-but-but-but.... What? You think it's hard? Are you calling me a liar?

_ Why I oughta reach down your throat and pull out your esophagus.

       A mirror was produced. It seemed to appear out of nowhere. An esophagus was pulled out of a mirror. It was the right throat but, strangely enough, it was the wrong esophagus. Tertiary life-forms applauded from the gutter. A dessert cart backed out of the mirror. It contained much in the way of comestibles. One of the men pointed to a plate. Strangely enough it was the wrong man. Nevertheless he pointed to a plate.

_ Is that where Napoleon pulled his bone apart?

_ It certainly looks like it.

_ I'll have two.

_ I'll have the One without a second.

_ Bastard! I was gonna have that.

_ Chai.

_ Large, with extra texture. I'm watching her figure.


                                                                     ***********

..... History is an exercise. It builds big muscles, some in the head.

..... Pasty old woman swinging one arm while she walks. She was eaten up by the mirror, like a diamond in the dark. What to do?

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Holiday Magic

_ Do you believe?

_ I answer questions. Belief is a child's garden. One doesn't need to believe. We make it fit, man... or some such rationale. Some people like to fly kites; others wave flags. I find it more than a little embarrassing when someone starts spouting off about their beliefs. One doesn't need to believe to feel the immediacy of the sleek, cold body of a seagull coursing through a winter wind, or the strange yellow light in its eye as it turns to you. One doesn't need to believe in anything in order to appreciate our transient lives. One need not believe to do anything but believe. I answer questions.

_ Fair enough... fair enough indeed. Howsaboy?

_ Susceptible.

_ Do you have people after you?

_ I have people after me; I have people before me; I have people up the wazoo.

_ Does that bother you?

_ The wazoo? No. Once I experienced the radiant immediacy of what I can only call joy - true knowing prior to reason. Since then nothing regarding the stilted world of people much matters anymore. Refract and redact and act accordingly... Not me, chief. Besides, I'm not quite sure that during the great age of exploration anyone found the wazoo.

_ Follow the crowd. You'll find it.

_ You follow the crowd if that suits your fancy.

_ We need participate in the world.

_ What world? The world of man? Fuck the world of man. Did you hear me? Fuck the world of man. Those five syllables will set you free.

_ Of course... Why didn't I think of that?

_ The world of man... what a laugh! You know what the world of man is? It's thoughts about thoughts piling up like snow, and snow melts. It's like shit in the elephant cage at the zoo, except for the fact that elephant shit doesn't melt. It dries up and blows away. We're breathing it in now. We, except for our insistent delusion, are insubstantial. You, despite your new clothes and holiday glow, are breathing in the dust of someone's burnt corpse. We are forever insubstantial - we will be forgotten. A snowflake melting miles above the great expanse of a desert has more substance than the drivel-laden thoughts of the vulgar mind. Such thoughts own us, move us around as does someone orchestrating a group picture. Fuck the world of man!

_ Someone didn't have their kale this morning...

_ Is desire ever laid to rest amidst the exhortations of the crowd? Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick... the egg scrambler plies his trade; a fork swirling in a small metal bowl... tick, tick, tick, tick, tick... someone - the scrambler -  can't take it anymore and sobs. He is grief-stricken; all the while others await their eggs. Somewhere in a not too distant lavatory a great and majestic Cleveland steamer sails under the flag of the Smiling Whatever. Say what?!

_ What?

_ Human reproduction has been outlawed. Now we can truly care.

_ Whew...

_ I'm not so sure I care what you or anyone else thinks...What are we to do?... I'll tell you a story. I once sat on Santa's lap as a kid. I told him what I wanted. Do you know what he said to me as my aunt snapped pictures?

_ No.

_ He said, "How does it feel to want, kid?" I was a polite boy and not understanding, I said, "Excuse me?" He smiled, mugging for the camera, no doubt, and said, "Fuck you, you little turd." I wasn't sure if I, at such a tender age, was ready to incorporate that into my imagined life.

_ You thought your life was imagined?

_ I knew it was because things kept changing even when I didn't want them to and I had to continually adjust. That continual adjusting was the work of my imagination, born of previous imaginings.

_ I'm not so sure...

_ Save it for someone who farts through silk. My circumstance is the circumstance of living. One circumstance, infinite in scope, produced by imagined relations between imagined people, places and things. It need not be considered one of many for it is infinite in its scope.

_ That doesn't make sense.

_ Of course it doesn't. Any equation, any cosmology, which contains an infinite factor is, simply put, beyond our understanding. It doesn't make sense... You said it, not me. Be glad it doesn't make sense. Linguini doesn't make sense. It's like a straw hat on an Eskimo.

_ I'm not so sure...

_ Be sure. Stop with the bullshit. The alphabet in my soup is ordered differently than that floating in your bowl. The status quo is nothing you will ever see, taste, smell, touch or hear. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick... The man - the eggs are like cement - stifles a sob. No one likes to see a grown man cry. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick... Can you do that somewhere else? I - it was I scrambling the eggs - ran screaming from the kitchen, trying desperately to catch my breath. Everything was collapsing around me. Wave after wave of grief surged through my mind imagined. I shifted my attention - it of a sterling changelessness - and entered another infinite circumstance. I shrieked. Another infinite circumstance?! Such was not possible! I acted happy and everyone around me was put at ease.

_ What about your aunt?

_ My aunt inquired as to what Santa said. " Did he promise you nice toys?" I was a polite boy, not given to lying. I told her what he said; I told her he said, " Fuck you, you little turd." She never spoke to me again. She sends me five hundred dollars every December. Did you ask me if I believe?

_ Uh...

_ All anything does is change, and belief in the face of continual change is far from liberating. Belief is used as a coping mechanism, or a place saver, while one waits for a more compliant circumstance. It is then that you've successfully paved the path to delusion and gained the admiration of the people peopling your dream.

_ Well...

_ I enjoy watching things corrode; I feel at home among the corrupt for it is there that the light shines brightest. That being said, let's talk about the future.

_ Let's.

_ I sure would like to be an unclear physicist. That would be fun. I don't know anything about smashing atoms but I could learn. That would be fun.

_ Like bartending... that's fun once you learn how to mix drinks.

_ Precisely, old bean. Now how about some chai?

_ Being an unclear physicist is no different than being a bartender. This is this. This is what you do to turn this into that. This becomes that. How did it happen? The same way anything and everything else happens. Don't blink; and don't stare. I have a feeling you'll do very well as an unclear physicist.

_ Please don't look at me over the top of your glasses, at least not today... Don't you know? Today is Vitamin D Day... for you, for me, and for those with poor circulation.

_ Bring it on, girlfriend. I was going to ask if you had a good Christmas.

_ I guess you just did, saving the world a question mark. You are relentless... What am I supposed to say?

_ Yes?... Yes would be fine.

_ I don't have Christmas; and Christmas doesn't have me. I don't live a life that requires me to get 'ready'; I don't live a life that requires me to assume the insanity at large.

_ Or that... that suffices. I was commenting to my star - I have a star named after me - that there's not enough complaining in the world. Have you noticed that? People don't complain the way they used to. Whatever happened to the life that we once knew?

_ It got swallowed up. It got shat out, pissed out, puked out and re-plated as today. Even the sunshine is regurgitated; however you are not to dismay, for holiday magic is afoot.

_ How do you know?

_ How do I know?

_ How do you know?

_ My pubic hair on the right side above da runt fell out without so much as a howdy-do, or a looky here. There's your holiday magic. That's how I know.

_ Chai?

_ Considering my loss it's a wonder I don't list to the left. Yes.

                                                                ********

... Just watch. Watch while watching, watch while engaging. Just watch.

... It's all been said before, and it'll all be said again. A straight line is the first lie.

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