by Tomorrow's Man
I have been suggested by a noodle that flogging and flicking and virtually animal and less than mostly spectacular to the sense of being at two with a decrepit and dessicated universal hop from here to the end of where my nose ends to where my nose ends.
And this, my latest causerie, will have nothing to do with this duck, space travel, tax reform, my left big toe, my right big toe, that girl's wonderful lips, that country with the flag that seems to have a rutabaga on it, lice, 13 sheets of brown paper that I found wedged under my pillow this morning all covered in the inexplicably scrawled words 'CROATOAN' and 'LETTUCE,' diesel frogs, or the calendar on my desk which includes the month of Hemptemper.
This is about that other duck.
Took my finger, poked the sun, licked off the goo. Got a nice burnt cinnamon to it. Took my finger, poked the moon, smudged the rusty dust beneath my eyes. Now I've got a gaze with the full-moon color of the taste of the sun; don't worry, darling -- when I wink you'll feel me on your tongue.
You hand someone your soul. It isn't like dumping a bowling ball in a wet paper bag into their lap; it is more like you took an hour to slide your hand into theirs and twine fingers while they were asleep.
They wake.
There, they've got your soul.
What would you now have them do? Where does it leave you? See now, you don't even have a wet paper bag.
Don't feel so down, there's a snail down there. Snails climb trees to not feel so down, and they they see cicadas. The cicadas sing for the snails, and the snails, since they like experimental drone music, then don't feel so down. It's nice to see a happy snail listening to a buzzing cicada. If only we could all be happy snails or buzzing cicadas.
The Ultimate Presidential Speech
"Now that I have been elected, I vow to turn America back into the America everyone was happy to believe in! The day I enter the White House, I plan to bang my wife on the desk in the Oval Office. After we are done, I will be proud to release the video, showing all of my fellow Americans that I am hung just like you, and the First Lady's ass really isn't bad for a woman of 45! Come on, you'd do her in a heartbeat!
"I plan to distribute this video across the country while riding in the back of a 1987 Ford Escort. We will be followed by a phalanx of highway repair crews. My wife, in her eternal dedication to the American people, will be going down on me during the entire journey -- and every time I accidentally pop out of her mouth by God, that pothole will be fixed! The roads will roll anew!
"The First Lady will also be in charge of the Penis Fund; she will personally measure every American male member. For those of you less endowed, you will receive a proportional annual government grant! Finally, we can stop all the fighting, war, and strife through financial compensation for insecure men.
"I will legalize abortion nationally, as well as gambling, drugs, and homosexual partnerships. Heath Care will be socialized, and the government wil regulate, well, just about everything in the private sector. No more of this Enron-type nastiness! Our new American motto will be "There's Plenty to Go Around!"
"Beginning next Monday, there will also be a government-funded escort service for anyone who wants to go out and get ripped. Why drink and drive when we have sober call girls and men waiting to take you home for a standardized fee?
"There are many more things I could mention in this speech, but you folks really ought to be out having a good time. Remember, most crimes are now punishable by death, but heck, why commit one? If you need something, just call me at 1-800-ASK THE PRES. This country's got more money than it knows what to do with, so we'll sort you out. Just don't call tonight -- it is White House Orgy Night, and me and the missus have got to go get lubed up.
"God Bless You All, America!"
The Ultimate Job Interview
"I'll need an office on the third floor in the front corner. All windows. I need to be able to look out and see my company Porche, and my company Lamborghini. I will need three computers in my office; one for doing the seventeen hours of work per week that I plan to invest in the position, one laptop to take home at my whim, and one desktop next to the 200-gallon saltwater aquarium on the credenza in the corner for surfing porn. I will require two secretaries, preferably a lesbian couple with untreatable nymphomania. My leather chair should have a built in massager, refrigerator, and urinal. In fact, I will need a private jacuzzi washroom accessible only by my office. My phone will be a video phone, and if the person calling me does not have one, I will have remote access to a circling satellite with infrared so that I may zoom in on them. My boss will refer to me as "Mister Master," and all will bow before me when I enter the establishment.
"With these minor requirements fulfilled I feel I will excel at my position, and become the best part-time fry cook McDonald's has ever had."
Gasté los últimos tres días que aprenden a cómo hablar español. Ahora, yo lo puedo hablar muy bien, como si naciéramos en y levantados por los monjes de Madrid él mismo. Por eso usted oradores españoles nativos me pueden entender tan bien. Porque este programa de la traducción es muy bueno en hacerme sueno como un balbuciar imbécil.
Max Wertheimer proposed in 1924 that several tortoises equal more than the sum of their parts; after watching them play last night, I completely agree with Max, by gum.
LUNCH
Today's category is Nine Giant Clubs. I do not mean nine immense bludgeons for felling mastodons; nor do I mean nine large groups of people known as the Doppeldingers, the Lunt Cickers, the Reasonably Good Bowling Team, the Toe Jam Band, the Couldn't Be In but We're In Here Crowd, the Tunnel Is Never Just a Tunnel Team, the Christ Was a Crysanthemum Club, the Bicycle Wielding Under Medicated Spam Clique, or the Yankees; today's category is, in fact, the menu selection for my lunch -- right now I am trying to decide between the Billy Club, the Country Club, and the Italian Night Club, which has extra pepperoni.
I think I'll go with the Italian Night Club -- it's spicy!
So, like, I went to this party with Johnny Appleseed? And me and Brad Pitt got into a tickle fight with him? And like he lost his pouch out on the second floor veranda? And all the seeds spilled down into the pool? And I don't know if it was the chlorine or the sun lamps or whatever but all the apple seeds just like sprouted up into trees like right there? In the pool? And like Brad and Jennifer Aniston were like all weirded out cos now the pool was just full of these huge apple trees? And all the people that were swimming in the pool were now like way up in the trees? So like Lisa Kudrow, Ryan Seacrest, and Will Farrell were all stuck in the same tree and Will made like a joke and like Lisa fell down a branch but like Ryan Seacrest caught her and said, like, I swear to God, like, "I've got you, ma'am!"
He is, like, so gay.
Color Violet
"I had to crawl out of the basement," Violet said. "It wasn't hard once I broke through the foundation. I used the bones that lay scattered around me, digging and scraping with the tibias and scapulas, femurs and radii, using the larger bones until they wore down into calcium chalk; then I used the phalanges, the scaphoids, lunates, triquetrals, hallux, and pisiforms, until I broke through to the soil. From there it was easy to use the many scapulae I'd uncovered to simply shovel away. When I made it to the surface, I felt like the luckiest woman alive -- the first thing I saw was violets in bloom -- seadrifts and lookers, stargates, and a whole row of afternoon delights." Violet paused, gulping the last swallow. "It was then I made the conenction, and realized why the florist had such beautiful flowers...and such fecund, fertile soil."
I refilled Violet's glass of water, and wondered if I should tell her the truth.
Color Indigo
Put on my new plastic skin and set out for the roll call, slipped myself into the crowd like a needle and pressed my plunger, I feel like an insertion, I feel like a cold rush to the vein, a deep dark fluid grace in my indigo tone entering bodies, entering bodies, entering bloodstreams and darkening eyes, irises collide and colors deepen, everyone's gazes pass dark blue and become me, become my indigo heat, I am the drug in every touch and I am an addiction.
Color Blue
Coated my back in an inch of petroleum jelly, stuck styrofoam peanuts into every inch, coated more jelly over that odd layer, and strolled my naked body toward the lake.
Two days later, I'm still afloat.
There is no land from here, so there is no land here but me. I am an island, surrounded by the susurrus of tourmaline beneath a sky of cerulean. The water is my father, and I live upon his back; the sky is my mother, and she breathes life into me.
I am the in between, the land;
I am life.
Color Green
Today is the 4th anniversary of Texticity. I think that means just short of 1400 entries, give or take some rough spots of muse-free downtime. Every May I slow down, and every May it kicks in again, ready to go 360 or so more, born again, lush and lively and springtime green, the green, of course, of go go go.
Here I am, at it again. Put on your hat. Grab your shades.
The first year was a tricycle with a shaky left rear wheel.
The second year was a Datsun 208ZX with a bad muffler.
The third year was a baby bald eagle.
The fourth year (through yesterday) was a door opening onto the interior of a mansion with several floors, but no ceilings.
This year? This year will be Cassiopeia riding into my living room on her new Dyna Glide FXDI, her lesbian lover in raucous tatters laughing with her thighs clenched to Cassie's, the exhaust filling the room with enough carbon for me to make ink from smoke for the next 365.
This year, this year I will be roaring.
Color Yellow
I had lunch today with Mr. Taco and Mr. Banana, and we went back to my place and watched BOOHBAH, and we had peanut brittle, and we played twister but not much cos Mr. Taco kept spilling lettuce all over my rug, and Mr. Banana had to get back to work because he's a design engineer for a construction company, the kind with the big caterpillar trucks, and we didn't get to play frisbee but I hope we can tomorrow!
Color Orange
"Hand me that orange."
"No, that is an apple."
"No, that is the sun."
"No, that is my heart, you can keep that."
"No, that is a lemon, put some in my drink."
"No, that is a stop sign, giving me a hint."
"No, that is a canary, dead from our coalmine."
"No, that is a London bus, full of angry tourists."
"No, that is the flag of Niue, such a beautiful island; you're getting closer."
"No, that is a bloodshot eye. Oh, it is my bloodshot eye."
"Ah, that is it. That is an orange -- delicious!"
Color Red
The flag isn't waving, it just sort of bleeds next to clean bandages, like a before and after war photo of what shouldn't be. There's a night sky above rife with stars, an electricity-free view of the galaxy, smog-free, fire-free, smoking death via cannon and cartridge free; our flag has clean bandages, signs that we care, but far too much blood to absorb.
Colors
The suggestion was to run the rainbow. The idea was to take it, and let it chase me across this screen, your screen, like a hurricane kite, and let it be my will and wind.
I've taken this suggestion and created a field of white.
In my dream I can't stop the car; it spins slowly, indefatigably out of control as I run across the lawns and gardens of the houses in ym old neighborhood by the ocean. I catch on that, in the darkness I can control the wheel if not the brakes, and steer toward the beach, the same beach, by geographical coincidence, where Sylvia Plath designed her next move. I spin the tires of the large car into the surf, and finally come to a halt. It is then I remember I am locked in. It is then I see the tide rising, hungry.
I still need to wake up.
Left like Venus
Right like Mars
Belly satin
Mons a veldt
I want to build these grand pieces into a glider
soar above her water
surely spiralling toward the salt
spray as if it will save me.
In a bout of logic that I won on a tko in the seventh round, I stuffed 1,700,942 pieces of Dubble Bubble bubble gum into my mouth, correctly figuring that the bubble I then blew would be, in size, the equivalent of a bubble blown with 3,401,884 non-dubble pieces; the problem was, as I floated off toward the horizon, I could not obtain my prize money nor my championship belt, and didn't make it home until I got stuck in Richard Branson's hair.
Richard was quite a fun bloke -- he not only let me ride home gratis in his dirigible, but he also gave me a free three-pak of his new Mint Chutney flavoured Virgin™ Condoms. He was a blast, that R.B.!
I can honestly and confidently say I no longer need therapy. This weekend I found out that Jimmy cracked corn...and I do care.
Ever have one of those mornings when you feel like the sugar collected at the end of the day in the bottom of a coffee cup in a black and white Dilbert comic strip?
Tonight is one of those mornings.
Okay, sure, I'm in a tye-dye tee-shirt and look like Timothy Leary acid puke, but that's nothing when you consider the man out on my front walk, the man with the movie camera who is frantically trying to shave himself as if his beard was growing in as a swarm of livid bees. Makes my shirt seem less insane to me today.
The way to express yourself -- eloquently, perfectly, instigating no doubt and causing weightless sighs, is the hardest lottery in the world to win; maybe we're all just waiting to say 'I love you' or 'I forgive you' from our deathbeds, making our last moment resonate with that impossible eloquence.
Happy birthday, sweet sister of mine; if ever a woman had a heart of gold, yours could be only platinum.
Want to do something fun? Okay.
Lift up your keyboard, go on, turn it upside down, and shake it out vigorously.
Congratulations -- you have discovered life, love, the pursuit of happiness, what happens to Dorito DNA, ham as fossil, mote civil war, and the Itsy Bitsy Bang (in dust).
Now, say this: "Ewwwww."
I would very much like to take this opportunity to expouse upon kibble. However, I am unsure what kibble is exactly, so it turns out, I am afraid, it seems, that I am just blowing text up your ass.
Carry on.
I haven't blended my text nearly enough lately,
so I'll surely do so right now.
I nearly blended my have and my text late enough,
so surely my right is rightly so.
Right now I've blended enough left so nearly,
Surely I rightly have text.
Text right so I've left enough blending lately so I'll have now to surely write.