Never Take A Joker Literally

April 19, 2008 – 2:42 pm

Somebody knocked on the door and I looked through the little window at what could only be a Jehovah’s Witness, with his black leather satchel and white short sleeves.

I knew he had a mission.

This was a golden opportunity, so I stripped and put on my thong.

Then I opened the door with a big smile.

Some moments are priceless.

I’ll never forget the astonished look on his face, and the series of emotions that flickered across it—
from embarrassment to consternation.

I have to give him credit, though— he never lost his cool.

He just stood there and looked right through me without flinching, but I had the feeling he was struggling to avoid that inevitable glance at the ‘thing’.

I felt a little sorry for him, but declined to show him mercy.

I invited him into the house, and put my hand on his shoulder.

Good thing he didn’t drop dead right then and there.

He looked so conflicted I thought he might fall apart.

He couldn’t make it across the threshold—it was as if an invisible wall stopped him.

I asked him if he was looking for a ‘donation’.

That’s when his eyes began their inevitable descent to the mother load.

It was funny how he just stared.

He looked hungry— I felt a little guilty.

But not too much.

It’s a bright new day.

Posted in Babylon, Life, My Personal Life, Naked | 1 Comment »

Ain’t I A Man?

April 17, 2008 – 10:55 pm

If Google is truly the first “psychedelically informed superpower”— then a host of permutations of the beast come to mind and I feel the rapid breath of whatever inspired it.

Maybe an alternative reality imagined by Arthur C. Clarke— or a movie with James Dean— would better depict it.

Just look at the merchandising.

So don’t give up easily— stay the course, and all that.

I wouldn’t send my friend on a fool’s errand to recover his dignity when the monster shits its golden turd, but at least he should have veto power over his own information.

The war is going to be about human dignity, and how much bullshit can real people absorb?

I never believed for a moment that Childhood’s End could be reduced to a morality tale about interplanetary colonialism, but it looks to me like some people are stuck on their local happy plantation.

Draw your own conclusions— there’s a classic world that draws its strength from the tribe in here somewhere.

Looking outside the cave.

Posted in Art, Babylon, History, Magic, Power | No Comments »

How The World Became A Concrete Spaceship

April 16, 2008 – 1:47 pm

My personal vision of superconnectivity:

I never took God for granted— I just wanted some answers.

You can’t have a dialogue with deafening silence.

And my bullshit detector never stopped buzzing when I read the Bible.

Preachers gave me a headache and churches made me feel claustrophobic.

Mercifully for a wayward pilgrim, I got cosmic feedback from my radio.

Call me superstitious if I give it human attributes, but it’s weird how ‘intelligence’ communicates— time and space are immaterial that way.

It never gives me advice or tells me what to do, it just lets me know it’s there.

I can’t believe the synchronicity is random— Mozart must be playing for his own entertainment—
with such mathematical purity.

I can have faith in that.

So it wasn’t much of a paradigm shift when the scarily skinny bartender told me I looked like an old rocker.

I laughed and said, “How’d you guess?”

Just don’t tell me I look like Keith Richards.

If I do, it can’t be the hair.

Bucky, we hardly knew ye.

Posted in Actors, My Personal Life, Philosophy, Power, Rolling Stones | No Comments »

Who Else Will Toot Your Horn?

April 13, 2008 – 3:16 pm

When I saw the bleached-blonde psycho writhing on the bed in her red hotpants like she was warming up for a gang bang with the Pirate crew, I knew Captain Hornblower was on board.

She asked me if I had any powder and I told her to go fuck herself, knowing full well that she could do it, admirably.

I went up on the flybridge and congratulated Cap for his never-failing good taste in sexy women.

He roared like the perverted sexy pirate he is at that one.

Blow’s a professional hedonist— sort of a blue-collar Hefner with good drug connections.

He talks with a Jersey tough-guy swagger that I know for a fact is just one of the several accents he puts on, as the occasion requires.

He claims he knows Whitey Bulger— I wouldn’t be surprised.

I like this sawed-off sex god because he’s always in a good mood.

Even when he’s pissed off and ranting about the latest crazy bitch who robbed his stash, he’s still got a half-smile on his rubbery face.

And drink in hand, which makes a dangerously spillable pointer to emphasize his righteous admonitions:

Blow’s sage advice to hormone-addled young men.

The medicine goes down easier if you look at it as entertainment.

You know a performer likes to see his performance appreciated.

Just don’t let him forget that women are dangerous.

Horny.

Posted in Art, Life, Mafia, Naked, Philosophy, Pirates | 2 Comments »

Death Is A Rich Man’s Fantasy

April 8, 2008 – 10:42 pm

Nothing like a royal palm tree to make you feel the subtropical vibe— they’re sculpturally exotic.

A cool breeze caresses his worries away as he pulls his feet slowly through the pleasantly coarse sand beneath his table.

By the look of his eyes I’d say he’s got a good buzz on.

I guess that’s what rum bars are for.

I don’t know how the fucker does it.

He never works out and yet he’s well-built.

He drinks too much but he never gets drunk.

Some people just have good genes and a cast-iron constitution to boot.

He doesn’t even have wrinkles.

Life ain’t fair, is it?

If he didn’t have such a good sense of humor I’d probably kill him— at least in my fantasies.

Relaxing.

Posted in Life, Love, People, Tropical Paradise | No Comments »

Closing The Gap Between Us

March 31, 2008 – 10:25 pm

U-Roy was putting on a show beachside at the Tree House. I was in a circle with the natty dreads, waiting for the performance to begin.

One of the distinguished gentlemen pulled out a tremendous spliff, about a foot long, and lit it with a butane grill-lighter.

He drew deeply, and passed it to me. I did the same, and savored the essence of this particular strain.

It was sweet, without the pungent bite of indica, so I knew it was a strain with a taste of rare complexity.

We passed this goodness around several times, getting closer to the cosmic registry each time, until at last I knew we were There.

At that moment, a spotlight lit up a lonely circle on the stage, and a disembodied voice announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing one of the founding Fathers of Reggae, the Originator himself, Mr. U-Roy”.

The place erupted in applause, but there was still no U-Roy there. Suddenly, a rift in the crowd opened up, as if an invisible Moses were parting the Red Sea, and it opened right to our little group.

I was taken aback when the fellow to whom I had just passed the spliff took a giant toke, and proceeded to follow the path to the stage, where he mounted it, and began to sing ‘Wake the Town”.

That woke me up.

Posted in Jamaica, Music, My Personal Life | No Comments »

Guns And Cocks

March 26, 2008 – 10:50 pm

The architect had designed the Masonic Temple, which was a masterpiece of faux-Egyptian symbolism. The local dignitaries wanted me to consult on the restoration of the floating wooden staircase, whose suspension was a mystery.

I took one look and knew the designer was a mystic— probably in the throes of some euphoric high when he conceived it.

I was alone one day when the stained-glass artist had left, surveying the handiwork of the refugee crew I supervised (with jokes and gestures, mostly— they didn’t speak much English).

I’d told them of course I would take my shoes off if I visited their Godhouse.

They were vastly entertained by that— so I gave them a bonus speech on the genius of the architect— not that they really gave a shit.

They knew as well as I did that it was all a show— but I would not fail to deliver the goods.

I told them how the city had burned to the ground, and the young architect in New York had read about it in the paper and hopped on a South-bound train to help build the new city that would rise from the ashes.

He succeeded.

Anyway, there I was, appraising our work, when I heard the steady creak of steps on the stairs and suddenly this handsome young cop in shorts bounded up, with his Glock drawn. He looked as surprised as me, but he smiled and said it was amazing what we’d done, who woulda thought?

Then he went up to the one of the windows, and looked out on the street.

He said he was looking for Maurice.

I said who’s Maurice and he told me he was the biggest crack dealer in the neighborhood.

I couldn’t help but notice what a nice ass and legs he had.

In retrospect it seems like he really put on a show.

That’s cool with me.

Posted in Art, My Personal Life, Philosophy | No Comments »