Yeah well…a few hours later…
And YES, she does speak with a lisp;
Actually it is more as a double lisp now…as I heard.
As if anyone really cared or noticed as I do – I thought it kinda cute her lisps and her lips too – her full luscious lips I am still thinking about doing - … - and now I am in love - I love her so so MUCH! Maybe that is why I finding her double lisp so cute, or maybe because of all her saliva , ooohh she is so so delicious now, to me, or maybe because I gave her, I gave her her second lisp; I tell you I wouldn’t mind giving her a 3rd one too; she ain’t timid – and neither am I! I now finding out! I finding myself!! ‘fer sure…
She didn’t speak much anyway; or rather she didn’t talk much – when she ‘spoke’; she spoke volumes…in another sort of, silent, sign language, though one oddly we could, we all could and can understand – perfectly it seemed…if one wanted and oddly, wanted, we all did, even as illiterate in the ways of magic some of us may pretend.
And God Bless Her – and I say that truly, even if I never allowed to stand by her – especially God Bless her if she allows, and love her.
And God Bless her for what she can do, and did…
To me…
Proving BEYOND a doubt – a shadow of any doubt – any doubt:
There is a GOD –
And God bless Him(?)/Her(?); the One on Most High.
And no –
She would not marry me, gnashing my teeth, the sorry lonely soul I am or pretty much can be I have found, as I figuring wanting to capture the one woman I know I love; do I? I do! Then she gets fat and I get ugly, though that don’t happen now, not exactly right now – such is my life, and perhaps my luck, for certainly if I – we(?) – have learned anything here on earth, anything at all: there can be a Hell of a lot of Hell in a little bit of Heaven.
Which I figuring heaven is surely here, is her.
I could barely afford one hour, one moment with this precious being – can you imagine the cost of an entire lifetime!! Staggering.
I’m willing – I guess…Yes! maybe…
You see my resources are scarce, admittedly scarce; and to exist, even to live and love in this great City, is unfortunately ‘tres dear’.
I have decided to de-camp –
Well actually my ‘tour guides’ have insisted, verociously insisting the time is nigh for me to move on into and onto ‘greener pastures. What do they know? What do they know I do not?
I wasn’t sure this would be such a good idea – I am having such a good time here…
They INSISTED! Pushing me about, of sorts; I finding their behavior rather unseemly and finally atrocious! I am the guest here! I am the customer! I keep having to remind them, so discouraging sometimes. Now I have to manage the help?! I am not paid enough for such efforts; therefore I will offer such important management advice gratis; it is the least I can do.
“For your own good.” I think I recall echoing off bare painted walls; “For your own good!” I am hearing, or was that another time or in a dream? Hard to say now…AM I hearing voices?
Yeah well…They even graciously provided transportation - & a haircut & new duds! Why I even think I am seeing here an Armani label on me now, here! Yes, indeed! Yes indeedee! Walking proudly on my own damn steam, on my own damn propulsion & balance; come on ARMANI! I AM READY!
In this touring package, thankfully, everything is included.
As well everything included in her too, inside of her, as God makes her and of course as it should be, she was dear enough – at least enough of everything I could, or would pretty much probably ever would ever be able to conjure or think of, or wish, or even, wickedly(?) - imagine – yet as we know and have learned, descriptions of such ecstatic euphoria is impossible; impossible as one of us even daring, even trying describing The One Most High – especially in words…Perhaps a painting – two paintings - or a musical chant…? Yes, I can hear such a tune, a beautiful musical uplifting canticle – an ecstatic chorale, a pure aria in two part harmony and a lisp! Two lisps! I want some of her saliva too; can’t help myself – you know that – right?
Yeah well that didn’t happen, and, perhaps never will.
As my precursor came to find in Biblical times, my fate, and His, given by The One Most High, is not to wed; that sacrament denied us both; for others such seems almost easy.
I must move on – always move on, such is my fate, through the bowels of hell – always(?!) preaching to the choir & the lost ones I finding very often’ and wondering: how do I know all these lost souls?
You see, I am usually most hesitant to move too far away from environs I already know and are familiar, as challenging and as dangerous and as insulting as this world, this life, my life, is; I prefer not to move other than, curiously, move on the surprisingly motivational locomotion of the Most sacred wine, of which I have given some blood to be sure; Amen to that.
No –; generally I am most cautious; I am of the feeling, I am the holder of the opinion: The Devil you know is better than The Devil you don’t know.
Well it seems my guides, especially my fastidiously uniformed guides were of a different opinion, and are insisting that a ‘change of scenery’ would do me good and for me to ‘move on’ and express my faith, elsewhere. And in fact, my move is working out, quite well actually, they were quite correct; although I am fairly sure they have no idea.
You know, as people say, the good island of Manhattan is, or can be, a rather ‘stuck up’, tightly wound place, and especially the chic Eastside(!?) – pleeeeaase…- forget about it! That place; Gnarly sticks up all their arses! Some pretty asses though; some very pretty arses…why I could -!
But the good Kings County, across the swift flowing river (Jordan(?)), better known in some quarters as Brooklyn – or ‘B-bad’ – forget about it – a free for all!
Truly, a Goddamn FREE FOR ALL!
I like this new Devil better.
Am I being seduced?
Maybe I should be thinking ‘bout heading into the desert for 40 days…for some sort of salvation, ‘fer sure.
Oh, by my reckoning, considering where I am now and, and the Biblical timeliness, I should have done that stay in the wilderness already…perhaps 40 days was not enough for me to relinquish and repel the Evil one. Eighty, 180 days(?!) – two hundred and eight(!) - ooh woe is me if I succumb to ‘ol Scratch’s seductive lures…
I will never then get to the Promised Land -!
Good thing I had not enough resources earlier for that lovely angel – of Beelzebub’s?!!? – I would have surely be a goner if surely this the case; loving her; trying to love her.
How can I ever tell who is of ‘ol Scratch? Or just say the hell with it! And be a monk.
I am always reminded, at trying times as these, the goodness, the sacredness of the oath; that is the Pledge: of Poverty; of this vow I cannot be reminded too often; and for this, no matter the sins and seductions I am, I am still alive.
So, as I was saying, my new digs are definitely something else.
Now, I understand about ‘All God’s creatures’, all His(?)/Her(?) little special snowflakes – I ought to – I am The Son, right? And as The Son I should give thanks and understanding to his graciousness and Love and to the fact he hasn’t EATEN me yet.
Yeah, well this is just the problem: the ‘understanding’ part.
So all His(?)/Her(?) little special snowflakes; Is it a girl or is it a boy? A ‘shim’ I like to call it.
I am, of course, on vacation of sorts – aren’t we all? – so maybe I shouldn’t bother so much; you know: when in Rome…
And I don’t mind and everything but here in my newly appointed digs they have a whole mess of them – a whole mess of ‘em; they even, it seems, have their own wing!
I peeked down there once, that Dark pink colorful sparkling wing; and what are they doing, all them, down in that wing? God only knows…I guess I could go down – err – or rather I guess I could venture in – ahh…and take a peek, so to speak, under their skirts, and find out.
Maybe they are of the ‘Scottish contingent’ on a tour, and those ‘skirts’ are really kilts? Possible? I have seen some pretty strong muscular legs here. This idea, my idea, is not out of the realm of possibility – is it? I like the Scotts after all; I am in fact half Scottish, I heard.
And there are always a few of them ‘Scotts(?) primping and preening in front of the mirrors along those rows of shiny white sinks; there are always one or two there; they really seem to like the urinal area too for some reason; urinary problems, perhaps?
Another reason I am still alive is that these good hosts feed me, and as I said in the earlier estate I visited and inhabited on the City’s Eastside, you can gain weight, if you are not careful, and there at that earlier establishment my good hosts would carefully monitor our portions; here, in my new dining facilities, this is bordering on an absolute free for all; basically as much as you can balance, on your tray, and for others who can’t be bothered, or unable with balancing, they all carry in plastic bags and just fill up; they must be selling the stuff on the outside in some market somewhere for there is no way you can eat all that; I don’t care how hungry you are; the possibility of explosion is a real possibility you actually try to eat all that; blow up – BOOM!
And they are the most jolly of sort here in this dining area; perhaps because of the plentitude of food and sustenance, Spiritual sustenance, to be sure? And juice and milk and fruit and dessert and – and suffice to say, it has been a long time since I have eaten so much, I almost am about to wax nostalgic of my previous, more stern hearted hosts and their careful allocation of calories.
And of course, here in my new perch the ‘après’ dinner menu seems to be even more exotic, if such is possible; I mean we are in Brooklyn and given the eclectic pot that all these races and nationalities are melting into and smells and colors and languages and varying produce and spices and – “What Is That??!!”; all sold with abandon on these streets and dark alley ways all melting into – trust me, the Eastside this is not.
Now concerning the other facilities at this new establishment: ‘Les du toilette’ are impeccable, and as I waltz in to ‘to do my duty’ I am faced with rows of sparkling clean impossibly immaculately white porcelain sinks, each with its own clean shiny mirror above, and each sink has two large paddle type stainless steel handles to allow you to release and mix and pouring hot and cold water mixing to your desire, the exact temperature as your wish, your temperature at your comfortable leisure and pleasure, if you wish.
And across from these beautiful shiny white sinks are a row of sparkling clean white urinals, or for the Continental visitor, ‘pissoir’, if you prefer; these sparkling clean white urinals seem to stretch off into the horizon. And of course there are additional rows of sparkling clean shower stalls, for those few residents so inclined, with colorful plastic almost new(!) shower curtains too. And finally the requisite very clean ‘Les cabinet pour merde’, each enclosed by a neatly constructed grey sheet metal door, the insured privacy afforded by the door with a sliding latch for lock, which, of course, most civilized people insist is ‘de rigueur’ for one to feel enough comfort in order to perform ‘your duty’. Very little in the way of argument regarding the necessity, need and usefulness for these shitters; especially given how much we eat now; I myself am up to three healthy bowel movements a day; very healthy; very time consuming too.
By necessity I keep these clean white porcelain thrones close at hand; so time consuming this diet.
Speaking of germs, and cleanliness being next to Godliness and therefore germs and bacteria(!) must be, I am pretty sure, related to the Devil.
Do you know I read the other day that there are billions and billions of bacteria living on us, in us, all over us – and supposedly they are good for us!
Yeah, right; Devil double speak; fer sure.
Oh woe is me at the Power of Darkness – who overwhelms me oohh Beelzebub get the behind me!! BE GONE!!
I read these billions and billions of the little Satan’s weigh up to three to five pounds of our body weight, easy, if what I read is the truth and devil-speak – and if this is true then I am sure in my 'neck of the woods' here, they making up over 5 – 10 pounds of our body weight – these are mean very dirty streets here in B-Bad Brooklyn - not like the pretty and very clean Eastside streets and those very sweet, very pretty, very sweet smelling bottoms there.
Five pounds of my body weight I am carrying, little devil beings crawling in and out of my righteous temple; invaded by germy bacteria! I am surely damned – but I can’t be!
I am the Chosen One!
Anyway a whole mess of those bacteria are in my gut – they say there is so many collecting in my gut – eating my free ride of plentiful food that I am voraciously eating(!) – PARISITES they are! They are even more voracious than me!
Ohhh, there are so so many of them in there, in my gut that when I take a shit half that icky stuff is the bio mass of those pesky ungodly bacteria!
And those little bastards replicate so fast they are right back to their eating grubbing gobbling state as soon as my next meal is coming down my chute!
No wonder I eat so much!
And think how much I could eat and stuff in my gut if I got rid of those pesky parasites and made some room for even more food!
Fuck them!!
Where’s the rat poison….-? ooohh I am so considering taking a good gulp, to be rid of those billions of little critters!
Anyway, as usual there is nary a soul around the toilette; only one or two people dotting the facility, that’s all I usually see, almost as if in a fancy Madison Avenue picture advertisement – oh! There are a few of the Scotts over there by the – Oh! Oh my -!
Well, yes, as I was saying, usually just one or two people dotting the place, perhaps as a training aid for those unsure as to what to do, other than the Scots, they seem to know very well suggesting what all this room is all about or even a bit more complicated, these clean white sights, what do with these white sights, what do these clean white sights and functional ornaments really mean, or what to do with, or in, such an unfamiliar local – You, you do remember the feces tossed out windows?
The ‘piece de resistance’ however, is Air Conditioning, the powerful revelation as in the Burning Bush we are talking here; the Big Fat free standing boxes, Squatting on concrete pedestals; these are no joke, huge grey metal boxes that are at least 20 TON A.C. units. And these are CARRIER AC units – this is the best of the best – no Chinese imports this – some parts inside the huge metal box maybe – but Carrier is true blue, as a block of ice. Now this is Revelation made manifest, and one I may even consider giving sacrifice for, certainly down on my bended knee.
These are brand new and scattered around and about the building in almost profusion if I dare extrapolating, as in manna from Heaven, for sure; scattered about everywhere you look!
When I saw all of them, or at least some of them at that first moment, I got down on my knees and thanked the Lord, literally, I got down on my knees, no shit, I had some left; I always do now. The sight of all of them big hulking grey metal boxes and I knew immediately there really was and IS a God; and they work!! Brand new they are; and the workmanship, looking at all those pipes and the electrical connections and, and the carefully mounted conduit racing about and sturdy valves and meters bristling off insulated pipes, the workmanship is flawless – the workmanship, the placement of the big fat electrical boxes, the neat cuts of the pipe insulation, the sturdy mounting brackets, the connections – all, all flawless, a beauty, such a beauty to behold; thank God for NYC labor unions; THANK GOD.
You understand, we are coming into tourist season here, in this great City; and as we all know, this great City gets HOT AS HELL, Hot as Hell I tell you, and there is nothing that can give you such an orgiastic joy than sitting in front of one of these whirring BIG FAT 20 TON Carrier air conditioning units when you had just been, a moment before, evaporating away into the ether or even boiling in thick ozone surrounded by 110 degree heat melting you and 99% humidity, all, all the elements challenging your very existence – HELL basically, at least as much as I know about the place and people dying around you – and then you are sitting down, all by yourself in front of a whirring very well working 20 ton AC unit and your having to put your coat on, your winter coat please, with icicles forming and hanging off your nose; I tell you even the thought of that scene is enough to jerk me the fuck off! Right now! Oowww! Ooohhh….oohhh.
Nothing else in God’s kingdom even comes close to that feeling…well – I guess – one of, one of those others of God’s special snowflakes…?
I don’t know man –
I’m sticking with the AC –
I think –
Oh Satan please – PLEASE! – I put you behind me!
Please do not tempt me! –
Pretty please -?
I wish it a ONE HUNDRED TON unit;
Can’t I ever be satisfied?
You see air conditioning doesn’t ‘give’ you cold; air conditioning units take heat away…takes heat away…you take enough heat away you freeze to death.
Like I say: a 100 ton unit would suit me fine, just fine; I am figuring it is about to be a hot a VERY HOT summer…this summer. I want – I NEED! way more than 20 tons, and I am willing to take my chances, flirting with death…100 TONS.
The building itself is very impressive; the real estate alone! The building sits on, takes up an entire city block, a Brooklyn City block; and so elegant and graceful are her architectural lines, the curves and her peaks and her rows of high up peaking out windows and of red bricks and grey slate and brownstone and rows and rows of enchanting slender windows peeking through secure, very secure grey roof tiles and sturdy round turrets too, sticking high up and how proud she is.
I don’t know, maybe it is the military in me, but the building wistfully reminds me of a gigantic Quonset hut, though considerably more beautiful and grand and refined, and when you walk into her space, that huge soaring space still left unencumbered and in its original form, the expanse, the towering curving ceiling reaching up high into the high heavens; the experience is surely religious.
At least to me.
And added to that, the thought of one time coming into that space, to be allowedcoming into that space, for you are a friend, to find haven from a quickly moving winter storm, or from a quickly moving advancing enemy ‘a la guerre’ and the space is filled with clean warm blankets and desperately needed food and your tanks and other numerous armaments you would not believe of their power nor even to dream of what havoc and mayhem and even cruel death those metal explosive pieces properly manned can insinuate and if need be finally to perpetrate, hopefully only in hesitant stubborn repose.
It is in moments as these when the sublime and mundane can come together, as in any good church or temple – or House of God – you know in there, in those buildings, those hallowed spaces there is the power of transcendence, inside those Houses, and here.
And do you know, right across the street of this fine building, this sturdy fine grand structure there is a church, and two more right down the block too, and another right down there, and another one here and – this place must be zoned for The House of Worship –
Maybe I am ascending?!
Am I getting closer to the Promised Land?
With all these churches and Houses of Worship rubbing shoulders and pews…;
How will I know -?
How will I know if I see it?
How will I know if I am really there?
How will I know it?
Will I know it, The Promised Land? As one of our esteemed(?!) wizened Supreme Court Justice once stated: “I know it when I see it.”
Will I know?
How will I know I am seeing it – what if I am blind – as in those who have eyes and cannot – OH! SATAN GET BEHIND ME!! LEAVE ME THOU!
Am I hearing voices?
I can certainly believe in God, easy enough considering HER; believe in some black robed justice, no matter the pedigree? I have my considered doubts, as you surely would understand.
There were none, no Houses of Worship for blocks and blocks at, nor near my last habitat, my last redoubt, in the chic neighborhood on the Eastside on the banks of the River Jordon.
This neighborhood here is – how can I say it, How can I describe this…vibrant…yes ‘vibrant’; ‘Very Vibrant’; very very Vibrant…Yes! That’s it! That is the word, the glorious word. Very, very very VIBRANT! All these people, all these personalities and nationalities mashed together, a stunning cacophony of voices and colors and smells and spices and voices and voices and spices again – you could, you can almost imagine the tower of Babel laid down sideways, horizontally on its spine on the ground, mashed together yet apart all – some(?) – still yet, all talking to God.
By way of example describing the personality and vibrancy of this neighborhood, the other evening, early evening, I was on my way to some appointment or another when I see this most beautiful of a young lady, tall and blond, bleached I think, with the most chic ‘tricked out’ hair cut, you know the style, curved and wrapped to one side framing her most beautiful face, and her rosy red lips, luscious even, and she is wearing this very shear, almost completely see thru, very long bias cut skirt, and beneath her skirt, which was slit in the front to boot, all the way up to her boo -! and inside her long very shear skirt you can see, well you know what I looking for, and I have a sneaking suspicion that is exactly the intent of the fashion statement, anyway beneath the light swaying folds of that very sheer light pink and blue colored skirt you can see, well at least I can see, her long beautiful bare legs and then down to her soft alluring feet placed into the most stylish of peek-a-boo high heels and then moving up a bit peeking in through that slit in her skirt as best I can to see her essence I know her essence is there and her essence is hiding behind the shortest of pastel pink shorts and her full rosy red lips and her flashing dark rimmed made up eyes, then I looking down again and, and – I can’t help myself – can you imagine I am still hungry?! And then I am looking up into those dark fiery made up mascaraed eyes and, and – and well you get the idea; I’m lost – right? Lost in her folds…I think…I wishing(?) I will be lost in her folds forever; forever and forever; fer sure; I hope.
Anyway, she is talking on her cell phone, to someone, I imagine – you know some of these people, they talk on their phones to nobody – they like, they like to seem like they are talking to someone; there is nobody there; all alone they are.
Well this angel was actually talking to someone, I am pretty sure – I guess – I hope(?); I sure would have liked to talk to her; no doubt there.
And she is saying she will meet him(?)/her(?) there’s that conundrum again; this one, this beautiful woman I am gazing at, surreptitiously staring at, much as I would prefer to do my staring and gazing bald faced, she is surely a woman – I think…I guess - anyway, she will meet this person on the other end of her line, soon – and then as luck would have it, or my fate I do sometimes entertain, we both enter the subway and I finding myself sitting right across from her – what luck! Fuck the fate. Sitting across from her all the way into Manhattan! What happens next, with her, I cannot say; she got off the train and I did not follow – what am I nuts?! I must be – I am not hearing enough voices – obviously, “CHASE AFTER HER Man!” “Chase After HER FOOL!”; I can be such an idiot sometimes.
Early the next morning – you know me always doing God’s, doing my Father’s work: early to bed, early to rise…it must have been about six the next morning and I was strolling to the subway for another one of my appointments – hey(!), I have people to see, places to go even I talking to no one on my cell phone – I ran out of minutes, some time ago.
Anyway, I had decided to take a different route to the subway, after ‘doing my duty’, so time consuming that, and thank GOD for soft toilet paper which I carrying ALL the time now – I have some extra here – you want? Anyway I am taking this fresh new route which is not exactly out of my way, as I am very conscious of conserving my energy, and I am taking this new route in order to further explore my new neighborhood, and I am walking through a decidedly pretty leafy quiet street named Breevort Place, filled with well kept beautiful brownstones, and lo and behold who do I see up the block walking towards me, well sort of stumbling towards me, is that beautiful, ethereal, ephemeral even perhaps, young lady from last evening past, except now she looks a bit different: that beautiful very sheer split in the front bias cut long skirt she was wearing? Well now the cut, the split is still there though the split looking a bit wider and her skirt has dark dirt like streaks rubbed into the fabric and her skirt is torn too and certainly her skirt now worn askew and hanging limply, and giving a decidedly different impression than just a few hours before, but that is what a good fashion piece is supposed to do, right? Inspiring different feeling from different angles? And her full red rosy lips were smeared with her lipstick, it seemed smeared roughly and it seemed perhaps not by her own hand, and it seemed her beautiful alluring lips even more puffy this early morning than last evening; and that fire I had witnessed earlier in her young flashing eyes – well that exciting fiery hunger for life is not there, it seemed gone, at least I not seeing that look this early morning – looked like she been up all night, and her dark mascara had decidedly found a new way, a new place on her still beautiful, though now seemingly burdened face, as her mascara making its way down, slowly, slowly ebbing on her tear drops, so so pretty her mascara treating her before, now slowly dropping further down, leaving dark tracks finally pooling onto, collecting slowly into a dimple, two dimples they finding a new resting place in her high pretty cheeks.
‘Tell me what you like; tell me what you don’t like’, I am thinking.
She did not seem hurt or anything, at least not physically, and she, the sight of her gave me pause.
She did not notice me or anything – who would? Why would she?
And she walked almost right up to me, and then she turned in front of me, we were both on the same sidewalk under the green quiet leaves from very tall trees and then she turned in front of me and opened a black wrought iron metal gate and she entered a yard of green grass and flowers of daffodils, sunflowers and white and orange tiger lilies and I can smell Jasmine and Lilacs – and Lavender too – and am I smelling her early morning perfume(?)…and she walked on a flat grey stone path to a brownstone home, I think this is a home, there were pink and blue flowers blooming along that flat stone path she walking on under the trees and she seemed to be heading for, aiming unsteadily for the basement door and I took note; why, I am not sure.
For what?
Perhaps for salvation?
Looking at her retreating form, dumfounded I am.
Can I be saved?
Can I be saved before she falls?