Tuesday, July 18, 2017

THE NEED

When you begin a visit with your main doctor-man, you often wonder why he always inquires as to your mental health. Ho-hum, ho-hum.

You were young then and full of piss and vinegar, rarin' to go, penis at the ready. The thought that you could sometimes finish a day by inundating yourself with penetrating questions which mandated that you go back in time--way back--and relive the crucial moments of your life and ask "what if"a different move on your part could have--would have--resulted in a different ballgame for you. No regrets, necessarily, just a reconsideration of what might have been if fate had dealt you other cards.

You've had a good ride and that's what makes looking back and going back in a different direction at the crossroads reveals oh' what could have been with just a twist of the dial.

Innocent second-guessing is all except for a tinge of who knows how taking another turn could have altered my life. And would this alteration have been good? Does good mean better?

This exercise is tricky and slightly dangerous because it tempts you to relive your life into the might-have-been-world where, sitting in your looking-back chair, anything can happen and oh, where would you be now if-if-if?

Because, let's face it--when moods like this descend upon you, the move you didn't make seems to always turn the neighbor's grass greener.

Yes, you miss the action, the spotlight, the newspaper headlines, the juice that filled you up, the drinks that warmed your soul and assured you that this was your time and you were the king.

And maybe that's why these journeys into the past are thrilling but not to be taken lightly.

This is serious stuff because it emphasizes the need for inner strength, the need for self confidence, and, always, the need for friendship loaded with warm memories.

And, most of all,--most of all--MOST OF ALL--,the need for love, real and imagined (had you gone the other way,dig?)

THE NEED FOR A PAT ON THE BACK, THE NEED FOR A CONSOLATORY EMISSARY FROM THE PAST OF EVERYTHING, AND, MOST OF ALL, THE NEED FOR LOVE.

MOST OF ALL, THE NEED FOR LOVE.

WHAT YOU'VE GOT LEFT ON THE ROAD TO BE STILL TRAVELLED HAS JUST DOUBLED, AT LEAST.

SLEEP HAS BECOME A COOL THING AS YOU BEGIN TO LOOK FORWARD TO THE SUNRISE.

AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW?

THE HIGH-TEST IN YOUR GASOLINE IS LOVE.

THE NEED FOR LOVE.

So, get up from your beloved chair and stop wrestling with karma. Tis another day and you're in the race to control it. You're in the select class of being able to walk around in your 80's. That's because, like it or not, you're getting enough, at least enough, of your oxygen, of love coming your way.

And there's more to come.

The light is still on green.

You're still a player. And lucky at that.

You're getting what you need.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

REEL vs REAL

Triumph vs Sadness. Are these phenomena discoverable prior to reality, affording us the opportunity to accept or avoid ?

How long can passion be sustained? What happens when it dies? How does one go about finding it again? Should one even try?

Does a marriage with respect but without good sex have any reasonable life expectancy ? Or are we in the realm of oxymorons?

Great sex is a must--a marital minimum for the marriage to have any shot at all. Without it, the union is destined for doom.

Moments of passion are the indispensable keys. There are the big ones that make us soar to the heavens with abandon (like extraordinary sex, get it?) the kind that makes one's head spin and makes life seem worth living. And then there are the small ones that, even for just a moment, take your breath away: a perfectly prepared meal, a fine glass of wine that warms the insides the way it was meant to. Even a moment of tension, of suspense (as long as it all turns out all right and we live to tell the tale over and over again) takes you there.

Real life or what we experience vicariously in the movies--we're still dealing with kicks of emotion.

Good living. The occasional self-indulgent vacation. The infrequent expensive gift that makes no economic sense whatsoever. It feels good when one splurges.

Unfortunately, the meal ends, the glass of wine empties, the orgasm subsides and the bill shows up.

Most of us don't attempt to live our whole lives on clouds of euphoria, always looking for something bigger and better in life, never, ever satisfied. For most of us, the time comes when we settle into something deeper and more meaningful.

In the case of romance, it might be a relationship based on respect and admiration, common interests and shared history. If sex can last, more the better. The passion will probably dissipate.

We settle. Most of us do. It's not so bad, or at least not as bad as it sounds. It's easier that way. It makes more sense.

But, after 84 years and counting, take it from me:

AS DUSK TAKES OVER, AND YOU DERIVE THE EVER-WELCOME PLEASURE OF MEMORIES, THE THINGS YOU RELIVE, IN EXQUISITE DETAIL, ARE THE EPISODES INVOLVING YOU AND A WOMAN. THE MOMENTS WHEN THE BELLS RANG, THE LIGHTENING STRUCK AND YOUR WORLD EVOLVED AROUND BEING IN LOVE. THE WHOLE 9 YARDS. THE FIRST MEETING WHEN YOU EXPERIENCED THE MAGIC CHEMISTRY OF FALLING IN LOVE, THE HEARTACHE AND GLORIOUS RECONCILIATION SO THAT EVERYTHING FELT RIGHT AGAIN, AND YOU SKIPPED INSTEAD OF WALKED. YOU COULDN'T FORSEE HOW MANY TIMES THIS WOULD HAPPEN TO YOU. IT DIDN'T MATTER, AS LONG AS IT HAPPENED AT LEAST ONCE.

Oh, if you could go back in time, you would have done some things differently. But what a ride it was, and your heart was stronger for it.

Romance, sex, love--call it what you will. Movies magnify life. They help you remember. If you have no memories, you're in trouble.

And as I look back, it would have been a barren track if it wasn't for that old devil moon.

Don't be still, my heart.


Tuesday, July 11, 2017

LEFT, RIGHT OR STRAIGHT AHEAD

Every life has more than one crossroad to travail. For some, the temptation to sit and quit is too formidable and they exit the race of life. Others give up to wherever fate has planned for them with their compass aimed at indifference. But a strong yet stubborn few grab what they have and turn it into the "consequence for potential" category.

They alchemize an exquisitely gentle but inherently determined sadness into gold. An inbred talent newly discovered but patiently waiting to be embraced as a positive factor in their lives.

They take a first grasp at the baton they are handed with the determination of making it important.

Somehow, some way, as the current flows by, a life preserver pulsates into your control, giving you another shot at everything. Change your gait from retaliation to capitulation. Try it. Got no choice. You do but you got no choice.

You have met people whom you will never get out of your system nor will she (the cover is blown) ever get you out of hers.

THAT'S LIFE.

Don't stop the world. You don't want to get off.

In the meantime, forget to remember.


Sunday, July 9, 2017

HE CHOKED AT THE SITDOWN

POTUS was speeding headlong into an inevitable crash. You can't buy toys at a mano a mano.

You first fill the air with bluster. Our leader is a cheerleader at a football game. But that's ok. The fans will soon forget that I ate my words and bit the bullet. I choked at the sit-down but its so much more fun to smile and laugh and have everything around you be so pretty.

After all, what's at stake here?

Just the whole friggin' world. As you walk away from the meeting, your rivals must muffle their handclaps and ask themselves,"do you believe what we just saw and heard? that's the leader of the free world!"

FDR--JFK--OBAMA--HWBUSH--CHURCHILL--AIN'T NO ROOM FOR CIRCUSMASTER?

What the hell? Ain't no fun being sad.

Can I please have more cotton candy?

His exit vehicle from Europe called for a barrel.

THE TRUE LOVE OF A SOULMATE

Can we all plan on meeting our soulmate? Is there one person--or maybe two, gotta give the creator some leeway here--who was made to fit right in, hand in glove, and provide the ultimate simpatico, the result being the perfect couple ?

I say "yes" and I believed that until now, as I begin my 84th year on earth. Now, I don't think so anymore. It can be a good run but immunization from defects, the key to it all, let me down with a thud, so I ain't a believer no more.

To claim my credentials, when I was in my early teens, 12 or 13, kids, even then, I would often say aloud, "wouldn't it be great to spend your life with a woman whom you madly love?" Even today, that sums it up for me, but it's unattainable I conclude.

You have a glorious pairing--bells, whistles, thunder and lightening--but, sooner or later, it falls apart---time being a factor, but an aggravating one. Keep in mind that I'm not referring to a 2-way street. This loosing one's footing more often knocks just one partner off the trail 'cause that's the way it is. My kind of love is all to itself. Peculiar and rarified stuff.

It comes slowly, at first. After all, this was a lifetime deal. The road downhill is a subtle sonovagun. Little things, an unguarded look here, a mask of disappointment there. These telltale signs mask years of suppressed negative frustration unbeknownst to you which makes them all the more painful to accept and deal with when that fateful fork in the road blocks the road to emotional recovery

The ferocious and maddening of the initial sex intimacies have long since faded but they have left love scars and scars are permanent. Where did I fuck up? Or did I fuck up ? There are 2 sets of hands in this mudpie, enough to easily accommodate more than 1 actor. So you sit and remember and follow the malicious intent trail. You're o.k. there. If anything, you win that ballgame because you are the romantic soul so she must be tougher, more in control of her emotional conduct. She was, in language and conduct completely inconsistent with the artistry of romance. As time has passed, you realize that you have been dealing with, and have been dealt by, a poker-faced  mistress of ceremonies . Shove the convenient tears. Your hands are more than clean. Your being a softy doesn't always make you a winner. Your biggest problem is dealing with and getting over your problem.

What should you take away from all of this?
Don't ever forget that staying true to yourself is the toughest challenge of all because the soulmate propaganda comes out of the same factory whose product keeps our grasses green

When you look in the mirror, stand up straight. Don't look away. No need to. Being nice, through and through, will steer your ship quite nicely, thank you. Keep the verdict under wraps 'till the final curtain comes down.

It takes two to Tango or even to argue.


Tuesday, June 20, 2017

BORN A SCHMUCK

I never was a good fighter. It's not that I was afraid---. Oh yes it was---I was afraid---plenty, Tonto. The trick was to somehow hide this yellow streak, which ran from my eyebrow to my pubic hair, from every living being on the planet.

Now, figure this out: for some reason, this crazy obsession worked its way in the reverse. That is, it brought trouble my way, causing frequent malfunctions of my bladder. Go figure, Sherlock!

Wake up, you'll---I'm going on with the story.

The scene :summer camp in New Hampshire-- a CO-ED camp-- and the gals were gorgeous. We were all in college so our ages were perfectly calibrated with the maximum performance capability of our respective sex organs. JISM CITY!

Each night, after we put the campers to bed, we would drive to a nearby motel which featured a cool lounge and Sinatra juke box. I love this country!!

In any conversation, the mention of the name WALLY would fetch the identical response: dread, fright, fear, horror, terror, impending doom, etc. etc. etc,,.. The reason for this was a human being in his mid-thirties, 6'6 feet tall whose body resembled the blended bodies of Superman, Batman and Mike Tyson, and whose face accurately reflected the destructive power the heavens had bestowed upon him. Wally was a killer.  One story which had made the rounds had Wally sitting at the bar when a patron innocently asked if he could munch a few peanuts from the bowl resting at the killer's elbow. Wally did not answer with words. Instead, he established contact between his fist and the idiot--stranger's knuckles which were adorned in a cast for a substantial period of months.

In my group walked, seven guys, five ladies--and we began to leisurely drink. I adore this land!

Fifteen feet away from us, five burly men, saddling the breeze (look ma, I talk like a cowboy) and ordering a furious pace. They were all dressed alike: white t-shirts covering bulging yet menacing but rippling muscles, skin-tight jeans---can men sport musclebound assholes?--talking as if they were going to beat the shit out of who cares. Each one more curious than the other, except one who was more menacing then the others. The mother ship of bad mothers. He, unknown to most, was Wally.

As we imbibed, I noticed Wally kept staring at one of the ladies at our table, getting so intense that it could not be ignored. Our guys began to lose all semblance of manhood. It was awkward city. Something bad was brewin'!

And it was in that hell-about-to-explode cauldron, that I again announced to the world that I was the biggest putz of all.

I swigged on my drink, yelled for Shane to come back, stared Wally in the eye, and barked,"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT?"

Have you ever seen grown men squirm for cover? Drop from their chairs and try to get under the rug? Begin to cry out for "MUMMY?"

Not Wally, you haven't.

He rose to a standing position, looked at yours truly and icily pronounced,"WHATSAMATTER, KID, YA NERVOUS?"

I pissed in my pants.

"YA NERVOUS, KID?"

I shat myself.

Wally approached, his outreached fist enabling contact.

I'm not a praying man except for this time.

"SAVE THE TEETH, LORD, SAVE THE TEETH."

"ONE PUNCH TO CHANGE YOUR PRETTY FACE."

'THE TEETH, LORD, THE TEETH."

"YOU DON'T LIKE ME, I DON'T LIKE YOU"

The monster speaks, and the truth, yet.

"BUT THAT DON'T MEAN WE HAVE TO FIGHT ABOUT IT!!"

If I cover his fist with my mouth, will he smell the scent of surrender?

YES--HE DID! WE BECAME FRIENDS. HE BECAME MY PROTECTOR1

I KEPT MY TEETH AND VOWED IN THE FUTURE TO KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT.

NOBODY MESSED WITH ME FOR ALL THE SUMMERS TO COME.

OOPS', THERE'S WALLY! TICKETS FOR THE MOVIES. WE'LL BE LATE IF I DON'T HURRY.

BUT I AIN'T NERVOUS ANYMORE.


Even the name suggests a circus. "Captain Trump."

Only this guy ain't kiddin'.

Membership qualification is how low can you bow.

But there's something more nauseously at play here, a beckoning to all who carry an{ imagined }

inferiority complex as their cross t.o bear. There is an opportunity to ascend the ladder of physicality

and improve the way you look. NO SURGERY REQUIRED!


I'm talking, people, about a study of NOSES who get the ringside seats at important events. The noses of nobility.


The Prez has the face of a pig. Swollen-almost-shut-eyes,but there. in the middle of this hodgepodge, sits a not-so-bad-proboscis. The out of context little girl nose engulfed by a puffy overblown face.


No pins allowed near the Prez.


What gives with Melania, the first  lady, and Ivanka, married to Jared?

NOSES DIVINE!