Posts made in May, 2015

Blog #24: Day of the Nymph (2015)

Blog #24:  Day of the Nymph  (2015)

  —and she made love to me! (…albeit, to onlookers, methinks, our intercourse didst appear, no doubt, innocuously conversational… [HA!! Wouldst think I’d say ‘oral’! Dint—butanyhooo…]   —golden tresses, tinged with violet… shining, blazing, luminous purple eyes… softly yielding, bronzed flesh o’er a form o’ sheer sublimity… blah, blah, blah, blah—   ‘Tis a warm, sunshiny day in May— the first in a long while in which I wouldst be at all adverse’d not were I to be without my pants… an’ with a song in mine heart (I don’t think so…) —with an itching in my spleen I think… what if I were a duck?   (“Why a duck?!” “Just shut up now!”)   Quack-quack-quack… quack-quack-quack… quack-quack-quack… quack-quack… quack.   —and it’s just really not at all doing it for me… but I’d probably have the opportunity to swim more often.     …and so there was a nymph—a sylph, a naiad, a dryad, an oread, a vixen, a moxie, a fiend!  (Just skip that last one…)  And a bemuse’d and blustering godling didst spy her—and love her from afar…!             And then nearer! And then again just slightly, shyly backing away………(!) And so thought this besmittened godling… “What if I made this nymphly beauty, beauteous nymph… what if I were to make of her some other form?  Just changed her into…  something else?”             (Shits & giggles?  I know not why!  Who might guess the wherefore of young godlings at play?) And so then her transformed her into a duck!  And, oh, ne’er ere or ‘twilln’t to be was were willst ere a duck’d be to rival the pulchritudinous perfection o’ the one what was a nubile nymph… and thusly didst the godling e’en moreso love her still…! But then she pecked at him—in the shin!—with her bluntly bludgeoning bill… and when the godling fell to the ground, clutching at his bruis’d and batter’d leg, she quacked raucously in his ear an’ she shat in his eye… oh, heinous, heinous, heinous, heinous nymph-duck-fiend-bitch. And so he rung her goddamned (Ah-ha!) neck, plucked her clean, rotisserized the hell out of her (forsoothly!), and ate her. And so now she’s dead—but a pile of bones and feathers and flippers and a bill… and though the godling thereafter regretted his ireful undoing o’ the supernally beauteous nymph, he knew… in the grand scheme of all things… she really had kind...

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Blog #23: Vodka & Women, Vol. 1: The Monkey’s Spleen

Blog #23: Vodka & Women, Vol. 1: The Monkey’s Spleen

            All this blood… all this blood…   Bona Dea Eve.  May the ‘Good Goddess’… not rain on my parade… (I don’t have a parade.)  May she… not poop in my drink… (I don’t drink—but you must drink something!—hey, that’s what I think, too!—everybody dies—fussfussfussfuss—)  May she… (which one is she?  Athena?  Isis?  That one on ‘Baywatch’ with the Brezhnev eyebrows?)  May she be both goodly and goddessish… and bring peace and compassion and chocolate crème pie (and beer!) to all… Eewww!  Beer with chocolate crème pie?!  I don’t think so… But vodka goes with everything.     Ode to Vodka   Oh, my belove’d— how you never fail to lift me on high, upon wings of fluid inspiration and the surging, electrical warmth of the invincibility you bestow!   Oh, bedamn’d belove’d— to raise me up toward shining, pinnacled heights, only to cast me downward once more! To thrash and bludgeon me, to hurl me from the heavens for the error of my Hephaestan pride!…   Oh, bedevilishly beguiling temptress— vainglorious, magnanimous, savage, and wise— the harsh mistress of my soul… you are as nothing to me!… —yet who can live with nothing?… To deny you, is to deny myself; I live but to embrace you, to consume you, to drink you in and feel your heated passions coursing all through me— my mind buzzing with the alacritous intent of your mischievousness!…   Oh, belauded, besotting, bedraggling belove’d— I don’t know anything about anything… but I know this— our indomitable strength whene’er we are adjoined allows me the brash bravery of an immortal!… And, all things considered, our coupling so augments my complete lack of fear in all things so as to balance quite nicely with my overwhelming lack of common sense!…   [from ‘The Vodka Diaries’ (at least):  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/15943.]     …in the Green Room, swillin’ gin and licking Moxie Roe—the hooker with nice shins…             (Wha’th’f—?!!%@$&) I’m halfway down the stairs to fetch more coffee ere I realize I haven’t brought my cup… (‘You rampallian! You fustilarian!’)  It doesn’t explain the blood on the bathroom floor—or how the leak occurred in the first place—but it does… No, I suppose it doesn’t do anything at all.   Just BE.             (HA!!  Bite me, True Believers!  Bite me right here… just below the coccyx…) I don’t know anything about anything… but I know this—     Musings –...

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