Sunday, March 11, 2012

Sam I Am Turns Fifty


is so beautifully ugly so purely tainted with its bits and pieces its trail mix of impurities


is such a lovely jello mold mottled marbled marred with mixed fruit aspic’d apricots such a wondrous field of sunflowers all a’bloom snakes and spiders slithering

circling stalks

splendid saxen flaxen waxen faces swiveling sunward seeking celestial solace

whilst doubts develop do well and dance atop our hopes


love she herself gives pause drives me to dance peal about

pirouette and pout

so what’s a schmuck to do but revel in it and embrace its flaws

which i do as i lean over to my good friend my man sam

sam i am

as we walk along over the cobblestones that comprise the streets of brussels

it is cold and cloudy on this wintry late afternoon a dusky darkness alit by neon signs and glowing storefronts selling chocolates espresso and antiquities

signs in french and flemish but everyone is speaking the queen’s english

angels and gargoyles garnish cathedrals and heavily ornate government buildings divine illusions who look down upon the streets and the ambling hordes ancient stone beings clinching to walls and ledges and precipices looks of wonder anger venom and victory joy and division creatures who over the centuries witnessed the torture of jew and pagan witch and warlock krout and frog father and son brother and sister

the killing can be so easy once one gets the hang of it don’t you know

it is the eve of his fiftieth birthday he sam i am he is here with us his friends his compadres his bosom buddies

his associates

who along with him will eat drink and be merry who have already found good cheer in the bottom of a chilled glass in the hotel bar paying tribute to the business that brings us together convincing partners and customers alike that we are tha’ shit we are the kings of our intellectual domain

that we fervently believe nee that we know in our heart of hearts that television our version of it of course is the holy see of our generation that all one needs to do all any sinner any heathen anyone who may be searching for salvation redemption need do

is put their hand gently upon the screen




and we exited the hotel upon the backs of doves to celebrate the birth of our sam our lord our savior might as well be christmas his mum being a virgin saint

she is

at least that’s what we tell him don’t want to upset him on this day this special day his birthday don’t want to upset him with tales of motherly debauchery

tales of dear old mum
taking it in the bum

the neighborhood lads
giving it to her
slapping their nads

would you could you in her house
would you could you with her mouth

and i lean over i put my arm around his shoulder i pull him in tightly i bring him in whisper into his ear

lovingly lecherously leeringly

tell him
inform him
enlighten him

that i am wearing his lovely wife’s panties beneath my jeans and not only do they feel so so good against me that they feel so good as that thin little thong rides up my ass but that’s ok that’s all right that i wore them specifically for him on this exceptional day so he would feel oh so special as i gave him a handjob beneath the table

yank yank
fizz fizz
oh what a relief it is

and we laugh and pat each other on the back and call each other faggots and queers and say we would each be proud to suck off the other one because we’re men real men and we don’t give a flying fuck we don’t give a silly sally shit about such lines that weaker beings may draw

and we walk down some winding alley propped up by restaurants and cafes and we are accosted by a tall and thin restaurant barker extraordinaire who regales us in pepe le pew accented english greets us with open arms and a young innocent the world is our oyster smile promises us free beers and women at the bar and women beneath the table and sunshine and eternal happiness

and unicorns and rainbows

and we bite hook line and sinker we wander in order buckets of moules et frites

would you could you in a car
eat them eat them
here they are

and we complain of customers and we complain of fellow workers current and departed and complain of our meager pay and our meager penises and we guffaw and giggle and spit white wine soaked bread from lips that never seem to cease moving from sentences that must that absolutely must be uttered

would you could you in a box
would you could you with a fox

and we argue over politics the euro the european union and greece sam i am he is quite proud that the united kingdom is not part of such shenanigans and someone tells him that they will be fucked when scotland departs and sam i am loudly proposes the quartering all of the fucking faggot scots as they once did william wallace so many years ago

and the irish amongst us get just a wee bit nervous memories of sir walter raleigh and the troubles still fresh in their mind

and we’re forced to climb narrow twisty iron steps upstairs in order to take a piss in a small closeted room where the urinal is on the wall right outside the door to the women’s loo

and i pee for so long that two or three of the lovely lasses come and go with the clomp clomp of heavy eurodyke heels supporting bodacious butts and boobs the door slap slap slapping as it bounces when each of them come or go

making me already a shy pisser making me a bit more nervous pinching off the stream and flinching with each slap with each bounce

and we finally up and leave ourselves we pay our bill of several hundred euros whatever happened to the free fucking beers and the waiter stands lurks over us with his little portable credit card machine stands over us watching to see if we put down a tip

which we do not because we can’t find the place on the bill to include it and because neither of us wants to engage the beret wearing walloon

because once you do you’re committed to an evening of platonian discourse

and so we wander out the door back up through the alley

and around to the ancient buildings and ghosts that make up le grand place

which we wander about wander around looking up looking down until we enter and sit at a table in le roy d’espagne an infamous bar that is looked after that is cared for by saint-aubertus the saint of all bakers

we are an international crowd sam from slough and a meatloaf looking longhaired german trying to be dutch living in the utrecht suburbs and a squared off dutch sailor with popeye forearms and two dubliner drunks with bad teeth and wistful thoughts and a cracker from south georgia who is punching over his weight class

we are white we are euro men who know all that needs to be known

and we drink copious amounts of fine belgian beer while being served by surly walloon waiters and waitresses wearing silly stiff white aprons that go up above and slipping over the head providing a sturdy mantle upon which perhaps drinks were formerly served

and we raise our glasses of belgian white and we toast to our good fortune we toast to our good times we toast to the miracle of life to the miracle that sam i am had made it to his fiftieth year

and we wish him another fifty

and we toast we drink to


life liberty and the pursuit of happiness

of thee i sing

and we challenge each other to name five famous belgians but we each fail and between us we can name only two

king leopold and tin tin

til sam reminds us that tin tin is not actually a real belgian or even a real person

and then we laugh and make fun of the local populace not with any malevolence but with the raucous affectionate love that one has for his or her fellow human being delighting in our differences exalting in our ability to raise the dead

to play jesus

their own personal jesus someone who hears their prayers someone who cares

oh it is indeed getting better to have someone to blame

one love
one life
one need in the night
one love we get to share

then one of us does remember livingston

or is it stanley

either way we can’t remember a surname or given name or whatever name it is we’ve forgotten

and sam i am he says he is a happy man he is a drunken happy man with a smile on his face his grin wide and bright his eyes all a’sparkle he says he has few regrets

have you come here for forgiveness
have you come to raise the dead
have you come here to play jesus
to the lepers in your head

he says he regrets never having learned to properly dance salsa to dance the tango to dance the cha cha cha

he says he regrets having given his wife syphilis

but that was years ago and she’s since forgiven him and provided him with children who make him proud and who thank god look more like his lovely tolerant saintly wife and less like the ugly fuck that is sam i am

and we all stand and make a toast to


who is so beautifully ugly so purely tainted with her bits and pieces her trail mix of impurities


who is such a lovely jello mold mottled marbled marred with mixed fruit aspic’d apricots such a wondrous field of sunflowers all a’bloom snakes and spiders slithering

circling stalks

splendid saxen flaxen waxen faces swiveling sunward seeking celestial solace

whilst doubts develop do well and dance atop our hopes


love she herself gives pause drives us to dance peal about

pirouette and pout

so what’s a schmuck to do but revel in it and embrace its flaws

happy birthday to sam i am and all that


dtoks said...

beautiful, i need to start reading your blogs again. btw, my email is still empty from a certain manuscript....

joeschmuck said...

thank you for the lovely thought. but, um...who is dtoks?

Sam said...

Love you Man

Sam said...

Love you Man