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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