Well, with Imperial now firmly enboxed and latched in with one of her 2 loves, with horn disengaged and flipped sideways, with promenade on the Imperial Boulevard completed (in observance of the Buddhist part of Palace protocol) and having somehow descended the mountain and performed the Grand Tour, I am now free to float, as I am duly doing. Don't stay at ground level unless you have to, touch for a sec maybe, if you must, but then instantly bounce off. Well, but to toothpicks and greed. But I mustn't tell what I do, it's too true, and they'd feel it was unwise to applaud such a feat--so say instead that here in the Palace, everyone is indisputably a paragon, indeed the defining essence, of lawabidingness. Let me tell you, it's hard living in a palace if you've always homed in on the margins. So you flip through your memory's foto album. Greed is wanting more than you need I suppose, the dead would be guiltless of the vice. No doubt some's "needs" are limitless, certainly coffers on one side gleamingly overflow and on the other are void of precious content. Thus people steal most likely. But what is greed really. Not any of that--although, why not; yes, it's just never having enough. People do get addicted to accumulating. I suffered a brief bout of that once, in a microcosmic instance that is, merely to pick one from the overall. I read the little joke as a vindication, possibly just to please myself. They used to wheel up to my balcony with their latest heists from stores or trucks, look up at me and proudly announce the discount of the year, and now and then the price and the item were acceptable to me. Never crossed my mind to deliver a sermon, occasionally the free deliveries brought useful products. Call me complicit with thievery? Well, they were all addicted to one substance or another, so I understood, and donated my buck to the beggar's cause. Like everyone else present, they can only be owed reparations. I entertained the despised, rather grandly too, and even while knowing from experience that I could never be exempt as a target of their standard modus vivendi. It was their habit not to discriminate between providers and providees. I occasionally reached my limit, as chapters must close.
Once there was a remarkable delivery, complete with installation, a serial bank robber who could quote me his own poetry, was the master of ceremonies that time. His father had kept him in a cage for 6 mos. during his youth or childhood I think he told me. I did not disbelieve it. He was movie-star handsome, had siberian blue eyes, had extraordinary supervisory skills, was masculine as they come, was very generous to me both with body and mind, was desired by everyone who saw him but, though I liked his company well enough I was happy without extras and he was fine with that too. He must've liked how I thought I'm guessing, or my general manner, and who knows, maybe some ditties of mine too. A memorable acquaintance, and one incidentally I was not targeted by, which I suspect made me an exception, based on one piece of evidence. At any rate, I've spent most of my life in the rara avis section of the Audubon sanctuary.
I shall reserve my other peccadilloes for the confessional. Before returning to my cloud, I should repeat that the ditty opened a vein, as if further proof were needed. Probably needs editing mais foie gras shall take precedence.
Today Zidane was on my mind: the 160 dead school girls and the incredible claim of only six Americans dead in all the mayhem. I was reminded of Kipling's lines:
Actually Iran looks a lot like WW I. the war was supposed to be over quickly. We would squash them like bugs. Our weaponry is superior, they're just barbarians, etc.
Maybe try living there for a while? If an outspoken person like yourself survived to tell the story, I'd be interested in reading it. Narges Mohammadi might have a few pointers to offer you. She was just sent home from the hospital yesterday, I can only imagine in what condition.
You made me chuckle.
Guilty as charged.
Well, with Imperial now firmly enboxed and latched in with one of her 2 loves, with horn disengaged and flipped sideways, with promenade on the Imperial Boulevard completed (in observance of the Buddhist part of Palace protocol) and having somehow descended the mountain and performed the Grand Tour, I am now free to float, as I am duly doing. Don't stay at ground level unless you have to, touch for a sec maybe, if you must, but then instantly bounce off. Well, but to toothpicks and greed. But I mustn't tell what I do, it's too true, and they'd feel it was unwise to applaud such a feat--so say instead that here in the Palace, everyone is indisputably a paragon, indeed the defining essence, of lawabidingness. Let me tell you, it's hard living in a palace if you've always homed in on the margins. So you flip through your memory's foto album. Greed is wanting more than you need I suppose, the dead would be guiltless of the vice. No doubt some's "needs" are limitless, certainly coffers on one side gleamingly overflow and on the other are void of precious content. Thus people steal most likely. But what is greed really. Not any of that--although, why not; yes, it's just never having enough. People do get addicted to accumulating. I suffered a brief bout of that once, in a microcosmic instance that is, merely to pick one from the overall. I read the little joke as a vindication, possibly just to please myself. They used to wheel up to my balcony with their latest heists from stores or trucks, look up at me and proudly announce the discount of the year, and now and then the price and the item were acceptable to me. Never crossed my mind to deliver a sermon, occasionally the free deliveries brought useful products. Call me complicit with thievery? Well, they were all addicted to one substance or another, so I understood, and donated my buck to the beggar's cause. Like everyone else present, they can only be owed reparations. I entertained the despised, rather grandly too, and even while knowing from experience that I could never be exempt as a target of their standard modus vivendi. It was their habit not to discriminate between providers and providees. I occasionally reached my limit, as chapters must close.
Once there was a remarkable delivery, complete with installation, a serial bank robber who could quote me his own poetry, was the master of ceremonies that time. His father had kept him in a cage for 6 mos. during his youth or childhood I think he told me. I did not disbelieve it. He was movie-star handsome, had siberian blue eyes, had extraordinary supervisory skills, was masculine as they come, was very generous to me both with body and mind, was desired by everyone who saw him but, though I liked his company well enough I was happy without extras and he was fine with that too. He must've liked how I thought I'm guessing, or my general manner, and who knows, maybe some ditties of mine too. A memorable acquaintance, and one incidentally I was not targeted by, which I suspect made me an exception, based on one piece of evidence. At any rate, I've spent most of my life in the rara avis section of the Audubon sanctuary.
I shall reserve my other peccadilloes for the confessional. Before returning to my cloud, I should repeat that the ditty opened a vein, as if further proof were needed. Probably needs editing mais foie gras shall take precedence.
Epitaph For a Bullied Teen Beauty Who Killed Herself
Stranger, I tried to pass them off as dimples,
But everyone knew they were really pimples.
People never got why
he saw pimples as sexy.
He connected them with flicks of the flexy.
He liked reading them as a sign
of having done some sitting
on signature lines of a hand divine.
Biblical direction
could be bad for the complexion--
or so he theorized.
Florid crops of them
were once the norm you'd be apprised
but when household gods got banned he'd add
strawberry fields turned to sand,
and the age of smooth faces
to the tune of times they're a-changin was born.
Today Zidane was on my mind: the 160 dead school girls and the incredible claim of only six Americans dead in all the mayhem. I was reminded of Kipling's lines:
If any question why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.
The killing germ is sperm--
is that the fact they lied about,
as of course they always will?
Actually Iran looks a lot like WW I. the war was supposed to be over quickly. We would squash them like bugs. Our weaponry is superior, they're just barbarians, etc.
Maybe try living there for a while? If an outspoken person like yourself survived to tell the story, I'd be interested in reading it. Narges Mohammadi might have a few pointers to offer you. She was just sent home from the hospital yesterday, I can only imagine in what condition.
Do I like this? I'm not sure.