Monday, March 02, 2009
Fee Fee Fie Fie Fo Fo Fum. I smell smoke in the crematorium
In springtime an old man's fancy turns to thoughts of his semi-annual erection.
This is an event to be celebrated. Priapus writ large, carted on a wheelbarrow, it seems. Mostrous Priapus. Scare ya. Fee fee fie fie fo fo fum.
I smell smoke in the crematorium.
Snow on the roof. Fire inside.
But most times, as in writing or in serious journalism, all we have is the desire.
Sure would be nice to just have a book out with your name on it.
Hell with the actual performance.
My performance of late has been lacklustre, on the page or in bed.
"Okay, okay. We've both been alone for a long time. Don't be ridiculous. Take your time."
Well it was a darn good thing. Ah. The bounty of the woman. With my luck I would have ended up with a lesbian,
though late night host Craig Ferguson is convinced "Lesbians are awesome." Well, Ellen seems so.
But one is hard-wired, at least twice a year.
Women check their calendars, make notes, leave letters, ring doorbells.
Not a morning goes by now without some lonesome woman coming to the door and forgetting why it was that she came.
I must be sending out signals. And my apartment complex is 90 per cent women. They know.
Molly Bloom's solilique from Ulysses. "Men have this thing, and they all want to stick it in you."
Ah but it is a fleeting thing.
Even Leonard Cohen gets the blues.
"And you know that she's half crazy/and you've got no love to give her."
Well, damn, Mr.Cohen. You're from Montreal. That's French, no? Vive la France. When Dashing Pierre of the Lafayette Escadrille Snoopy Squadron goes down, he goes down in flames
Hang on Snoopy!!
I took my wheelbarrow downtown this morning.
Madman with a wheelbarrow. Feeling a little heat from the cops.
Never mind, Doctor. Isn't it a beaut?
Current girlfriend not too happy. Got me on a low.
"Have you thought about turning gay?
What's so hot about getting a biggie-on for your roommate?
Such courage, such epic quest.
Faint heart never made it with women, or even small animals.
Ah well, my friend Merv the Perv says these are not perversions, they are refinements. Then he goes on to read his copy of The Marquis de Sade. Or really heavy Chekhov, The Lady with the Dog.
I swear the subway ads are full of pornography. "Dude, I am this great lay!"
Ah, Lay, Lady Lay.
And even Bob Dylan wonders about being gay.
Norman Mailer asks more serious questions of a writer.
The Novel or making it with the Great Bitch?
Norman Mailer says the novel first.
Then you'll have to fight them off.
I must write a great novel at once.
What the hell else am I going to do with this?