Thursday, November 5, 2009

The Dewy Grass

I.
"Come live with me in my sick estate. We'll get well. I'll feed you tea and oranges and we'll make love in the out-of-doors. In the dewy grass, baby. The dewy grass!"

But this gal was closed-off. "Dear Prudence," I said. "You've spent too much time in false paradise. It's really messed you up."


II.
For three weeks I renounced Holy Paganism and saw the world as it is, as a machine, self-interest as its oil. No fun, no playfulness, no little faeries tying Celtic knots in my pubic hair. I was miserable. I'd say I was in Hell but the concept was dead. What I was was in Starbucks, drunk and stinking, staring at an old woman with purple hair. Oh how I long for those weird demons!

I filled my canteen with Oban whisky and sat by the Italian Fountains. "I will kill myself," I laughed, then offered some whisky to a squirrel. His jerky rejection of my finest scotch stung my little heart. Why don't you like me? This is really good stuff.


I had to make a decision. It was either suicide or calisthenics at the gymnasium. I have always wanted abs like Satan's.



III.
Enervated from the workout, I sent a letter to my baby: "If you ever have purple hair, I won't speak to you. Also don't go ugly. I can't stand ugly girls. Not when they do it to themselves."

3 comments:

Rogelio said...

good blog
greetings from spain

Anonymous said...

when i saw mai farrow in dandy in 68 i got a trendenous erection in the theater she was a real cockete back in the day

jorg wobblington lopez said...

I don't mind hot girls who go ugly, because then they don't attract as much attention.