Paul got a job teaching Physics at Berkley, generic but developed an interest in Chemistry and too much LSD, which for him was one hit.  Granted it was a strong hit, but he was one of the ones that was on all altered.  He began to preach about the love of Jesus for Physics and how certain secretly Vatican financed agents were out to kill him since he had figured it all out, and was to only one who had been capable of reading between the lines.

This went on in his classes for a lot longer than you would imagine, but the times were strange.

Eventually enough students were noticed to be all getting A plus grades from Paul, and his students were a gaggle of dumbasses and jocks who didn't know shit about physics and said that Jesus loved Physics, and so did they!  Paul was sort of fired.  Actually he was paid to go to psychiatrists.

Then Paul started a band called the Jesus Physics and gained quite a following since Paul, while now sort of crazy made some awesome sound processing machinery, and was lucky to get a great drummer.

With profits from sales of his electronic music gizmos he bought an arsenal.  When the science hating Vatican agents came after him he fully intended to defend himself.  He gave everybody in the band 45 semi automatic pistols for Christmas, in the third year when they all had a lot of money.

For himself, as a present to himself, he got an Italian  semi automatic 12 gauge shotgun.  From then on he was really really in love with the most advanced shotguns and bought all he could.

He even incorporated shotguns into his rock shows creating a shotgun percussion guitar sort of thing that shot stage fireworks when the musician pulled the trigger, but also had a barrel mouthpiece and strings.

Then he married a red headed groupie who was a hypoglicemic vegetarian bi polar nymphomaniac and would get so wore out he became a voyeur sitting around with guns and butter in a bunker on his compound whispering songs about monks and nuns into a cassette tape recorder whenever horny last stop band members came over for what they called rehearsals.

Then he changed his name and took his bride back home where they moved into a doublewide on top of a mountain, or really just the biggest hill and he went back to teaching at the University.

He hadn't seen his brother Norm for a few months for no particular reason at all when he read on line that his brother Norm had dropped over dead in Civilization.   

Norm's sister was named Emily, view but she was so dumb the family called her Em.  She'd taken her dead dog to the vet.  Normal people know when a dog is dead.

"There is nothing we can do mam, capsule the dog is dead."

"Oh."

She walked around behind a protruding soft belly she draped in rayon.  She always wore a red coat open to show her rayon draped belly.  She wore slippers everywhere all the time.  Her hair was black and straight bowl cut, decease and she wore black rim glasses looking mostly like a character out of a John Waters movie.

She had never really been able to work and was just an artist.  She painted on ceramic figures standardly made in Special Ed.  She melted records.  She had a very active sex life as she was very willing to bend over one way or another.

Norm had had a will  he'd written in pencil by hand he'd put in a drawer in the kitchen.  Em was a special case so he said she would get a pink car and have an administrator in the event of his timely death that he expected as soon as he got a lot of money.

Norm saw himself as if he was a car.  He felt as if he had been a race car, but had become a Buick.

He'd put his hands on his belly while leaning back in his chair across from the naked Gisele at Civilization and said,   "It's my comfort zone."

Gisele knew a man when she saw one.  She was physically very perfect with lips and green eyes from planets in dreams.  An innate voluptuous grace that came from what we know is soul.

When Norm dropped dead at the table Gisele had been sad.  He was a funny guy.

Sharp

It's out there on it's way, cialis cheap

The Sharp.

One day it'll have it's say.

The Sharp.

Nothing for it but this is the way.

It's sharp, and hot and death is a highway.

_

The first thing Norm bought  with his lucky money was actually the strip joint.   It wasn't a strip joint before he bought it as there was no strip joint in town.  He was convinced that there ought to be for two or three reasons.  One he liked being able to go to strip joint and look at naked women dancing, doctor | and sometimes talk to some of them.  Another was that he thought it would make some money.  And another was that he thought it would make the town better, happier, less stuck up.

Some people like to go to the ballet, and some people like modern dance, and some like a striptease.    Some like all, but have preferences…

What Norm did was buy the legacy rot of a garage for an exorbitant amount of money.  The location was good.

He had been working his whole life hard with tools and electricity and buildings and new things were on his mind, so he had the property bulldozed and craned in modules for the strip joint he named  Civilization.

Norm was sitting with the Brazilian girl Gisele when he dropped dead of a heart attack, but this was after he had bought the Cessna 310, and the boat.

Monks pray for sex with the nuns.

The world keeps turning.

The jukebox in the convent is a money maker.

It's in the basement room where teenagers are supervised.

There is incense in the air.

Praise God.  Praise God!   Down here we are Rolie Polie, drugs praying for sex.

Making memories out of innocence and dancing by ourselves, cure praying for sex.

Asking for forgiveness.

Can I pray for sex?

Can I dance in a black robe.

Sing high and low and sneak through the woods to the convent, treatment to the monastery.

Sneak through the woods and valleys to the Girl Scout Camp,

From the Boy Scout Camp.

Sing those prayers aloud and you'll be boiled in oil.

Sing Rolie Polie,  I'm praying silently for sex.

I hate it I love it.

What's gonnah happen when I die?

Norm lucked out went he bought the lottery ticket.  He'd been on his way to a burn barrel Friday beers and bought the lottery ticket on a whim.  Normally Norm knew his luck to be bad, order or of a certain kind.  He lived alone in a run down studio apartment by himself.  The rent was high, and he regretted money spent at the bar that staved off loneliness.  He liked to play the jukebox.  Sometimes he got lucky with some woman, but he was in his early 50s now and was much more uncaring about making promises he couldn't keep.

Sometimes it was the woman, and sometimes it was her family, set of friends, the day of the week, or just geography.  Mostly he had his habits and wasn't going to much change.

His was just a regular life of regular achievements at regular things.  He'd drifted to carpentry even though he had no particular aptitude for it, but succeeded in being reliable and easy enough to get along with.

It was really out of the blue that he won so much money.  37 million dollars is a lot of money for someone whose rarely had more than 3 grand at a time and mostly is used to just getting by.  He remembered buying the ticket with a bit of awe at how normal the place had been, Carla behind the counter backed by the country grill of grease food productions on the edge of edibility.  Some cans had dust on them in the shelving.  There were cheap plastic toys, and the worst of brands of ice cream in the cooler.  The expensive freelance ATM, and the Video Poker games were back in the window end corner.  Scratch offs and the Lottery Ticket machine were there at Check out.  Carla had big breasts and was all business with a tow truck driver husband who looked like some dufus parody of the swoop over hairdo redneck impossible to invent.

Norm was not immune to moments of lust.  The flawed cashier women of quick mart country stores wisped in the mind of his pickup travels.  They all wore rings and he never hardly said much.

End locations and orbits changed.

"Hey, I bought a lottery ticket last Friday.  When do they draw the numbers?"  He'd asked Jerry on Monday.

Jerry said they picked them on Sundays and published them in the papers on Mondays.   They joked during the week, about what Norm might do with his winnings.

Norm said he was going to buy a boat, and an airplane and a motorcycle and a car, and a bar for a strip club, and an RV, and some gold, and a camp.

Soon as the check was in the bank, that's what he did.

Then he died.

I see I am flawed.

Now I have little passion.

Days go by.

Certain I will die.

I put off more and more travels and risks, advice and trips on the highway.

Now I love the helicopter and remember flying in a dream hanging from a two by four.

To: Me
From: Me

Be honest with yourself about your warm, drugs glowing sensuousness
and you will have Love.

Be honest with yourself about your roasting, adiposity flaming anger
and you will change from ruled into ruler.

Be honest with yourself about your putrid, revolting disgusts
and you will have purity.

Be honest with yourself about your peaking, encompassing divinity
and you will have humility.

Be honest with yourself about your heartbreaking eternal sorrow
and you will have compassion.

Be honest with yourself about the value of your words
and you will have audience.

Be honest with yourself about your cringeing, hiding fear
and you will have courage.

Be honest with yourself about your hungering, desperate desire
and you will have balance.

Be honest with yourself about your piercing, blinding intelligence
and you will have purpose.

Be honest with yourself about your vaulting, cartwheeling joy
and you will have power.

Be honest with yourself about your throbbing, pulsating lust
and you will have beauty.

Be honest with yourself about your craving, needing addiction
and you will have understanding.

Be honest with yourself about your frail, timid mortality
and you will live.

Most of all

Be!

CFG

Bad Luck

I have always had bad luck in the luxury way

So I married a woman who collected broken mirrors.

The Upside Down Watch

and the Love of God

Will time run backwards

if I wear my watch upside down on my wrist?

Will I return to innocence?

What good would that be?

I can call it up.

It is not gone away.

I can pet the dog and the cat.

And know nothing.

To be the naked sailor

Who has only his body

to live in after a shipwreck

Is what I am.

I am On Watch!

Running Forwards and Backwards on the Beach

Doomed to isolation

My screams muted by wind and sky and distance.

Hoping for rescue and hungry for touch.

Is God Lonely?

Of course God is not lonely.

Is God lost?

If he is, unhealthy he does not care.

Dying to be with God, pills

Or in paradise is not as great as being in heavan now.

I need a new watch.

The one I have is losing time.