God, Dan
I was a junior and Dan was a senior
drug addict in the school of arts and sciences. Neil
Young was a prolific songwriter with no
allegiances, except for the music. I had never
done cocaine before, so while he was cutting it
on the square mirror on top of the dresser, I put on
the record, and asked him what kind of shape
I would be in for class at two o’clock. He said
it was an aphrodisiac, so go figure. He was
cutting class himself and meeting his girlfriend
at one-thirty, because all it made him want to do
was fuck. I didn’t have a girlfriend. I had a Comparative
Religion class at two o’clock, and now I was thinking
twice about getting high before God and
man. But Dan was in a hurry, and he handed me
the rolled-up twenty which I knew enough to
stick inside my nose and aim at the nearest
cloud-row reflected in the square lake on top
of the dresser—and sniff vigorously. Then Dan
was saying something about making love
as he left the room, and Neil was saying something
about needing someone to love him the whole
day through, and I was alone with God and no one
to talk to about God, when the coke kicked in.
Thank God for Dan, who came back looking
for his twenty. “I don’t think God created the world,”
I said to him as he scooped up the bill and licked
the top of the dresser with his tongue, as an afterthought.
“In fact, I doubt He even knows we’re here.”
“Thank God for that,” said Dan, “because all I want
to do in the world is snort cocaine and rub my cock.”
I loved his honesty. I told him I would try to weave it in
to my paper on Abraham. “You need to get laid, man,”
said Dan. “Old man, take a look at my life,” said Neil.
I sat down at the typewriter and began: “ ‘Here am I,’
said Abraham to God.” “I’m out of here,” said Dan.
The Good Fight
Which one
is the good fight
anyway?
Isn’t it the good guy
kicking butt but
a little reluctantly
because he’s good
and hates to have to,
but since no one else would,
and wrong would just go
on unrighted,
he steps up to the plate
and takes a few good swings
and puts that baby to bed? Go
fuck yourself, you said
and have said nothing else
all day. Now it’s night
and your silence is still
that choked, caked, kill-
all-the-motherfuckers-take-
no-prisoners kind
you have honed to a fine
squint. But I only
meant to point out
what was wrong—
to right it. I don’t know much
but I know I love
your butt more than God
or country,
and when we fight
it hurts me right
here—right
here. And now
I think the good fight
is the one we get through
quickly, get to the other side of
with nothing dead or otherwise
irreparable floating
in the churning reddish
air we part like a sea
miraculously
finding our way back
to each other’s
arms.
Hand Cream
If you look up Messiah it says
something about being anointed.
If you look up anointed it says
something about smearing or rubbing
oil or unguents. If you look up unguents
it says they’re like ointments or salves.
Jesus Salves would be a great name
for a hand cream, I believe. And I believe
hand eczema is one of a dozen
skin diseases that got lumped together
under leprosy in the New Testament.
I believe a little hand cream everyday
goes a long way toward healing dry skin,
and if you squeeze the tube a little too hard
and too much unguent squirts out,
you can do what Jesus did: spread
the wealth around, anoint yourself and
others, rub some on your forearms
and their forearms, on their faces and tired
necks and shoulders and backs, the whole
body of Christ. If you look up holiness
it says something about being set apart
for sanctification. If you look up sanctification
it says something about being set apart
for holiness. One hand washing the other
just like in Jesus’ day. But if you look up
salvation, surprisingly it doesn’t say anything
about Jesus, or salves, or the Messiah.
It talks about our liberation from clinging
to the world of appearances, and the illusions
of sickness, pain, and death. A final, joyful
union with ultimate reality. Really good stuff.
50-Year-Old Circuitry
He looks at all the beautiful women
especially all the young beautiful women
especially all the old enough to be her father
beautiful women and he feels a little
ashamed of himself
but he also feels that what he feels
is a sign
that he’s alive
in fact it’s the only he’s alive sign that’s still
got all the bulbs burning
brightly inside of it
so whenever he sees a beautiful young woman
like his daughter’s friend Bethany for example
whose body is a precocious
light bulb and whose face is a pure
light
he can’t look at her and he can’t stop looking at her
and his eyes turn into neon I’m alive signs
alternating with the all night
SEX signs flashing in the red light district
behind his vanishing hairline
so the combined effect is a kind of
I’m STILL fucking ALIVE sign
which lights him up
and turns her off
and turns his daughter against him
Reblogged this on almira1109.
especially the last one, a nice long (edgy) build-up and then the kicker just when you thought it was going to be alright after all
Reblogged this on I Don't Care-I Amuse MYSELF.