Thursday, August 25, 2011

give me your dirty love

give me your dirty love just like your mamma make that little poodle do

beautiful post earthquake gotham all awash in blue sky dabbed with puffy cotton clouds like the dark side of some teenage girl poetry with all the cute things young and old wearing as little as possible and yet still staying six steps ahead of the fashionista polizei one two cha cha cha

drinks at rockefeller center sitting at the bar with television wannabe and tourist drinking rye and soda alongside comrades who are as faux serious i we all wear this mask of seriousness no matter if it is work or fun because goddamn it we're fucking focused on our fun goddamn it can't have fun unless it's big over the top i'm talking vegas baby the definition of fun

remember when remember when

it's all about the story got to have story if you have no story you've had no fun


it’s laid out all neat and pretty in the postmodern man book of rules

and the women at the bar they stare intently into the eyes of their fellow women themselves talking in a serious manner don’t know if it’s mimicry don’t know if they have their own book of rules don’t know don’t know

woman thou art a mystery to me i love you so i worship the power the say thee has over me

and drunken goodbyes laden with mutual admiration and stumbled shuffles take our hero down fiftieth street across madison and park to lexington the mellow ganjaesque coating the throat a phattie stroll through the evening lights that comprise midtown

slipping into the room into bed toying with thoughts contemplating considering a bedtime stroke a midnight masturbation propped up through some pornographic eyelid theater but the mind is distracted clouded by wandering lingering fading desire and i doze fall asleep

only to arise with the sun i am my own dawn

shit shower shave

head to penn station amidst crowds of heads down people as if this indeed is their daily prayer one two three four forgive me father please allow me the freedom to fuck my neighbor it's a zero sum world

i don't get unless she don’t get

roll the dice box cars move me around the board take a ride on the reading railroad if i pass go

line broke monkey got choked we all lived together on a little rowboat

currents of people to and fro dunkin’ donuts tim hortons very serious official soldiers of the realm german shepherds sporting holsters and six shooters on their haunches there to give it all for their masters who wear uniforms dark blue with gold celebration and long black batons hanging from batman style utility belts

holy scowl caped crusader how will we this time rescue gotham from the clutches of albert kayda

their helmets strapped to chin as they stand tall and stiff like proud circumcised cocks titillating the freshly douched suburban housewives post-divorce city jobs in hand chastity belts popped open swinging wide and free nervous giggles muffled by tom carvelle ice cream sublimation to ward off the weight of responsibility known but never previously considered theirs

suitcases and briefcases and flip flops and halter tops and belly button rings and oh so long legs shaved shined and tanned up into beneath skirts of mystery and denial panties of undetermined color pattern and material meh matters not my granddaddy says it’s all pink on the inside

and the board click click clicks a slot machine matching tracks with destination a melodious mechanical messaging amidst a sea of silent smart phones being nurtured like some angry starving infantile tamagotchi all aware of the fact that if they set it down for even a minute some distant idea concept opportunity concept may die a slow and lonely death

nothing worse than being left out of the loop

conductor sings all aboard wanders the aisle collecting tickets punching holes in some mysterious yet ancient pattern ritualizing one’s mass transit experience enabling the next priest that floats down the aisle providing communion to read translate and understand the message

that will be passed down from generation to generation along with millions of other tidbits of transportational transcendence delivered to saint peter the scrivener who dutifully logs them into individual books of life

collect my two hundred dollars collect my collective insanity on the third day let me arise from the dead up the escalator to the beaux arts lobby of the thirtieth street station philadelphia freedom ben franklin and william penn bless his quaking heart

to the cab line fuck fuck fuck it’s fucking raining early signs of irene yet to come into the cab to the restaurant pulling the prerequisite rollerbag and some nouveaux pseudo hipster bag serving as briefcase but what looks more like the fucking beach sac carried by my mother on panama city beaches in nineteen seventy two check in tip the hot chick in the simple black dress and sweet uplifting cleavage that i swear to god on high looked right at me

grinned and winked

and said yes they spoke they said to me oh kay buddy you’ve had enough move on

meet up with my man mickey marketer and our customer hey hey how’s the world how’s the wife how’re the kids how was vacation yeah that part of carolina it’s pretty nice we chit we chat we dance the social dance we hold hands in that secret way swear fiduciary loyalty to one another how much this much how about a little less how about a little more we both know there’s a spot there’s a sweet spot where this lotto ball will land gonna be one or the other either one is as good as the other the only reason we care the only reason we allow it to bounce is the pure ritual passed down from father to son throughout the millenniums it may be more processed it may be more refined it may be more vicious but it’s the native dance nonetheless

and we break bread and sup we are modern men yes indeed we are men wearing ties and charcoal suits and cufflinks and sharp plastic modern eyeware and as modern men we no longer drink martinis as did our forefathers nay we sip on iced teas or arnold palmers and post lunch cappuccinos said lunch which consists of gazpacho and an organic salad of mixed greens with shavings of some exotic dry italian cheese and we can exist on such rabbit fare and keep our cocks strong and proud because

we are postmodern men

and as postmodern men we shake hands with a spartan hug and an earnest spoken desire to a faith that we will see other again soon

and out to the plaza in the misty rain to hail a cab and these two cabbies stop at the same time their respective drivers both hopping out of the car both hailing me to come to their cab it’s cleaner he’s a better driver he knows the city he doesn’t know the city then they start to yell at each other in a tongue that i do not understand yet i find vaguely comforting in that from the roots redneck ancestry from deep within poking its head up like some stupid fucking turkey in a rainstom some bubba sniffing out chanting fight fight fight i finally simply walk over to one throw my suitcase into the trunk hop in the back my driver giving some foreign gesture to the other driver i believe it is the universal international self-congratulatory self-proclaiming sign for so hey cocksucker take that and shove it up your sorry loser ass

or something to that effect

and we me and my most recent provider of four wheel zim zoom zip through the drops of satanic acid rain up market street to the station

thirtieth street station philadelphia pee aa this cavernous granite fortress built upon columns of the legs of zeus himself marble floors sets of long wooden church pews facing each other in some postmodern podinal new age traveler’s intimate quite quaker group confessional we say absolutely nothing to each other perhaps a polite excuse me pardon me but we do gaze upon one another our eyes wander from pair to pair mutual body scans appreciative yet rarely rude or offensive our eyes they do catch and hold while we talk to someone else on our mobiles

there must be some sort of cosmic energy power surge such crowdsourced transcendental transformation soulful transmogrification multiplied repeated

lather rinse repeat

cycling through across the modern communication network over and over again and again

i believe we are unconsciously raising our mutual respective consciousnesses in a chaotic bursty spiral highway fraught with all sorts of rotted bridges beneath which live ugly ego trolls weak guardrails trap doors and winged goblins which swoop down to grab and whisk away your toto a highway headed to some global self awareness

and we don’t even give a flying jonathan livingston seagull fuck

nor should we give me one good reason why we should

and this huge fucking bronze art deco aztec motherfucker of a warrior god statue stands at one end overlooking the cathedralesque lobby

and it’s as if he our warrior chieftan god had waved his castro street buffed out muscular arms swept his eagle’s wings over the crowd and laid down the law

there will be calm there will be order

and it just seems it just feels that this place this downtown train station hub of humanity is so much more orderly than the chaos the confusion of the airport in all its depersonalized we are all part of the machine run amok converse crowdsourced energy in total disarray with an utter disregard for all others such that it causes an implosion of the collective soul into some pit of darkness

quickly my son fly through quickly hold on to your balls and jump through quickly to the other side

the yen the yang of the human conveyor belt

and on the shuttle from the train station to the airport i share a compartment with a large hassidic family a schlumpy bearded dad a soon to be schlumpy oddly similar mini-me version son complete with whispery dark beard and maybe six kids and a mom and there was this ten year old girl and i envied the simplicity of her future i mean there are six hundred thirteen laws if you can keep up with making sure you are following all these rules then hey ain’t no time for such shenanigans as an idle mind may fall prey to i mean such innocence of a child gently molded into what is what has been and what will always be

is it elitist to envy the simple needs of the peasants

but then i iook at her and feel a sorrow that touches me oh so slightly touches a sadness inside her hair such beautiful brown blonde hair that one day she too as her mother does as her grandmother did that one day she too will crop her hair shave her head and wear a wig

woman cover thy shame before god

and the shuttle pulls up to the terminal and they the righteous rugrats go scattering off the car cute little roly poly’s swarming and then dissipating into the crowd spatterings of crushed iced dribbled dropped plopped into a warm coke

i head in the opposite direction down beneath to the lower floor outside and across the street one last breath of the terrestrial ether through the parking lot my own personal club rasta where i must get righteous with jah before shutting myself into that aluminum tubular goddess dildo trembling through space and time

a zip of the zippo flame flips floats flutters touches the tip of the toke sending smoke and symbolism through the ganja delivery system into lung building courage and when it is of such an appropriate level i meander through xray and security apparati who pray for my soul and my safety they are our first line of defense they are mercenary to none loyal to the common cause the one true path

and I slip into my phat fat seat up front where the lovely waitress in short skirt and high heels and pearls hands me a warm chocolate chip cookie with a stepford wife grin and an implied suggestion of consummate cock worship service in the forward toilet

and i slip into a cannabis coma whilst watching the latest action super hero summer blockbuster and drift off thinking of german deserts deep nebraska pineapple upside down cake lip smacking goodness twirling of dreams and tongue dozing in out eyes open closed

whilst witnessing the setting sun cast a glow across the western skies I am my own sunset

i gaze upon all that i can see from here to there and back again and i know that it is good and i know that it is all that

1 comment:

textygirl said...

It is, it is all that. So much good stuff in this.