At The Distraction Attraction
The carny barks:
Come inside and see gnats and gadflies swarming about the heads of philosophers! Come, you, now! Come and see annoyance and obstructions to happiness! Come inside and watch a man tear down his little blocks mere moments after constructing them. Come see devices of personal torture: paradigms, rationalizations, constructs, obfuscations and simulacra sure to depress and confound! Come one, come all; it’s free!
And she says:
Hey, I’m standing here speaking. I’m pontificating on life and how to live it according to the gospels of my cretinous retinue, here… but all you do is whirl a dervish and speak in tongues. What I’m saying is important here. I’m trying to add value to his life. If you do what I say life will be good and you will want to live it. So now listen:
It’s important to keep it going, even if it means inserting a place holder to expand upon later. That is what this is, this little excursion to distraction.
It is a vilipend of sorts!
I have in that past denigrated all of this, but now it’s a worthy act — worthy of being placed here.
Don’t play with your balls in public. You come off a low class and unkempt fool. I don’t care that you’re a doctor or a fireman with syphilis!
To which I say:
I’m on my mindful way. I’m becoming confident and content again, and quickly aware of my mindless behavior. I’m trying to stay “good” to myself without making myself recoil in new age horror. It’s a start. It’s good.
To which the carny barker says:
Paducah is roiling now, and I’m thoroughly enervated.
Then she says to me:
Kentucky? What do we do now? Maybe have some quiche? Call the doctor? Shoot a speedball? I’m feeling icky. Fuck this!
I say to the carny:
Amicus opacus, I’ll call you!
I wander as lonely as you do, but you are anathema to my peeps. You block my peeps from the sun. You are my sunshine. You make me happy when I’m suicidal, please don’t take my sunshine to Manitoba on the back of a 1975 El Camino.
(The carny is nonplussed)
And I say to her:
Our salad days were filled with bitter herbs and intractable roots, not so much a salad as a buffet of weeds. Intractable and indelicate things in our mouths.
Every mouthful a swig of rot and offal. Awful offal. The bawds of euphony were happily entrenched in the cupboards and the cups were on a two week vacation at a Trump resort. I’m mystified by this all and quite malnourished.
The carny barks:
Let me tell you about the anthropocene age—
She barks back:
I challenge you to look chalky and wan. We’ll wage a hunger strike in absentia. We’ll lay waste to a tofurkey loaf while no one is watching said tofurkey in the phylactery factory lunch room. Snivel and drivel, you! We’ve got you by the short hairs!
She says to me:
Quit your salivatin’ you sententious whippersnapper. You palavering jerk-o’!
You have this whigmaleerie in your head…
of pixies and unicorns…
let me tell you the 900-foot Jesus statue—
The carny barks:
The Christ the Redeemer statue in Sao—
She wheels at him:
Shut the fuck up, Einstein!
Then at me:
That statue is going to take a dump — a loose stool dump, down the side of the sugarloaf.
The carny barks at the midway:
Ladies and gentlemen, we have just passed 800 kidney stones this month! Please refrain from smoking inside the exhibition halls and you’ll be fine… and the Cubans and Jews won’t be hurt.
It’s a sham and a crying shame this consumption. Generally, we try to avoid topics like this, but I just had to speak up. I just had to fill the air with words. Although there is really no accounting for taste, or any parallels here, I do see a parallelogram making its way up to the dais now, and maybe it will explain what is happening…
Hey you, please avoid the quadrilaterals, they’re tawdry and nouveau riche. Thank you!
A sonorous voice over says:
Someway to fill the blankness.
Someway to pass the blackness.
This thing is that thing.
(All outstanding suggestions were ignored)
“I take inspiration from anywhere I can get it. Lately, it has come from watching films from the past… Looking at films makes me feel to think, if that makes any sense.”
— Kim Gordon