Body Politic's Center of Levity Precessing Dangerously
Maggot: “I’ve rocked, and I’ve rolled, I’ve tumbled, and I’ve groveled…. but the strangest I ever did grok, was the night of the Ides of Augustus, when I alimented and phallagoed the Blue’s legend of hookamacook.”
Cyber-boy: “I’m not required to make sense of that.”
(Author’s Note):
They are on a bald Golgotha, with the wind whispering and roaring, and there is no way they can stay attached there, no matter how firm their center of gravity, their rootedness, their commitment to the ground, their anchorings in faith, or their belief in the basic goodness of their fellow men… they are going to be ‘ blown away…’
Maggot: “I’m lifting off… Mission control, give me T minus 10, 9,8,7…”
Cyber-boy: “Are there swells?”
Maggot: “There are, and I can’t ride them.”
Cyber-boy: “Why the Hell can’t you?”
Maggot: “Well, I can’t.”
Cyber-boy: “We gonna have lift-off today, or not?”
Maggot: “What is this, Cyber-boy? Do you expect me to be responsible for: love, or aggression, or pain, or indifference? I was twenty-five before I could tie my own shoes, wipe my own bottom, or ask for a bottle of a decent wine. I ain’t cut out for responsibility, don’t you see? Nowadays, it is the carpal tunnel syndrome that keeps me down.”
Cyber-boy: “I want you to be careful about your own perceptions, as though perceiving while lifting off were indistinguishable from monuments to infinity, or at least next Wednesday, or late for dinner, or you know, something good enough to get you laid, ugly though we all may be, and not funny enough, either.”
Maggot: “Oh, the crystal palace… But didn’t the windows there get greazed up with London’s fog? A woman’s parts are crawling like the shell of a snail, but we want it anyway, don’t we? My worm is shanked, uglier than burbot feed, and it’ll never be any different.”
Phlegmatico( flown in from garden of Gethsemane): “ Gentlemen! Let’s exert a bit of order on this disorder! Don’t you know what order and organization is?”
Maggot and Cyber-boy speaking together: “We didn’t care about that as long as we were peaceful, calm, and enjoying ourselves in an expansive way.”
Phlegmatico: “What about your brethren?”
Author’s Note:
The brethren don’t need or want the kind of help and comfort Maggot and Cyber-boy are able to give, and Phlegmatico knows that. The brethren might even envy Maggot and Cyber-boy their being on a bald Golgotha with the wind whispering and roaring, and the best thing might be their joining the two up there, feebly hoping for lift-off or at least a ‘hair-raising’ – THE GOOD just being a dismissal of any pleasure and hope available anywhere, but the GOOD is actually always a little strange, a little disordered, but ready to be plucked, as long as a Phlegmatic VOICE doesn’t suggest that such a GOOD is not “ the best” and as such, not worth ANYTHING... (only the best satisfies, and you, little man, can never know the best, and therefore, little man, can never be satisfied…)
Cyber-boy: “I’m not required to make sense of that.”
(Author’s Note):
They are on a bald Golgotha, with the wind whispering and roaring, and there is no way they can stay attached there, no matter how firm their center of gravity, their rootedness, their commitment to the ground, their anchorings in faith, or their belief in the basic goodness of their fellow men… they are going to be ‘ blown away…’
Maggot: “I’m lifting off… Mission control, give me T minus 10, 9,8,7…”
Cyber-boy: “Are there swells?”
Maggot: “There are, and I can’t ride them.”
Cyber-boy: “Why the Hell can’t you?”
Maggot: “Well, I can’t.”
Cyber-boy: “We gonna have lift-off today, or not?”
Maggot: “What is this, Cyber-boy? Do you expect me to be responsible for: love, or aggression, or pain, or indifference? I was twenty-five before I could tie my own shoes, wipe my own bottom, or ask for a bottle of a decent wine. I ain’t cut out for responsibility, don’t you see? Nowadays, it is the carpal tunnel syndrome that keeps me down.”
Cyber-boy: “I want you to be careful about your own perceptions, as though perceiving while lifting off were indistinguishable from monuments to infinity, or at least next Wednesday, or late for dinner, or you know, something good enough to get you laid, ugly though we all may be, and not funny enough, either.”
Maggot: “Oh, the crystal palace… But didn’t the windows there get greazed up with London’s fog? A woman’s parts are crawling like the shell of a snail, but we want it anyway, don’t we? My worm is shanked, uglier than burbot feed, and it’ll never be any different.”
Phlegmatico( flown in from garden of Gethsemane): “ Gentlemen! Let’s exert a bit of order on this disorder! Don’t you know what order and organization is?”
Maggot and Cyber-boy speaking together: “We didn’t care about that as long as we were peaceful, calm, and enjoying ourselves in an expansive way.”
Phlegmatico: “What about your brethren?”
Author’s Note:
The brethren don’t need or want the kind of help and comfort Maggot and Cyber-boy are able to give, and Phlegmatico knows that. The brethren might even envy Maggot and Cyber-boy their being on a bald Golgotha with the wind whispering and roaring, and the best thing might be their joining the two up there, feebly hoping for lift-off or at least a ‘hair-raising’ – THE GOOD just being a dismissal of any pleasure and hope available anywhere, but the GOOD is actually always a little strange, a little disordered, but ready to be plucked, as long as a Phlegmatic VOICE doesn’t suggest that such a GOOD is not “ the best” and as such, not worth ANYTHING... (only the best satisfies, and you, little man, can never know the best, and therefore, little man, can never be satisfied…)
posted by Yusef Asabiyah at 10:27 PM
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