Monks Pray

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

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.

Honest

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

UpsideDownWatch

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.

 

 

 

No Explanation

No Explanation

 

I know the reason now for the dream.

For some reason I wanted to go halfway

But when I got to the road

I saw it.

 

It was a cut straight up and down from my home

Into the valley, prostate

And straight up again through a Cut.

 

The gears of the car were whining

on the way down and I knew that there was no stopping or waking up or turning back so I woke up because it was what a real nightmare is which is the approach of death as a certainty.

I ought to paint a picture of my dream.

Painting pictures is a happy thing to do.

I want my nightmare to be beautiful.

Like it was driving down the Pennslyvanna Turnpike

With no margin of error in the snow down a long way when we were together and there was no past or future and it was what a trip really is.

"Dreams are dreams, ailment

And day is day.

The dream upon awaking

Slips and fades away.

Damned is the dream.

The dream you prayed would stay."

Where The Vision Came From

Why I Had a Vision

 

     I had a vision because I had boredom and bliss in alteration with Nike` in the early seventies and I recommend it as a process if you want to have a vision.

     The essence of an essay story I wrote influenced by Faulkner amounts to that.

      A vision has weight and changes your life and is life and defines and justifies it with more weight than Atlas could carry.

      Monks and Nuns doing really boring things with license for pleasure at night on a schedule of day and night and day and night and work and play and dancing and working and walks and talks has produced a vision that is a mind rock of burnt iron.

     Atom Bomb pictures are what I want sent to the UN by all my citizens right now quick for the walls of the UN there needs to be an art attack for the benefit of the workers.

                                                             Love, medic Russell

Better Get A Prenup

 

 

Better Get a PreNup

a song lyric

 

Better Get a Prenup

Prenup

Prenup

Before you go to Town, denture

Before you go Down.

Better get a PreNup

a PreNup

Yeah a PreNup

Before you tie the knot, sale

Give up what you've got,

That freedom that she wants

She wins on wedding day

Listen to what I say…

Better get a Pre Nup

PreNup

PreNup

You know it if you're doin' ReUp,

Get a Pre Nup.!