Get Some Cojones Here

It is better to look at the world in terms of potential solutions. At least the solution-oriented perspective gives you an endless sea of hope to plod along, especially when you are looking at micro and macro problem levels. Take two paces back for a wide-angle view and you are back to that festering, hope castrating mess of a world gone mad and bad while we slept. It may be that we couldn’t have stopped it but the fact remains that we slept.

Neurotic? Maybe.

Awake, shake dreams from your hair, my pretty child, my sweet one…

Yeah. We shuddered and sighed and moaned, and wept. Like lost puppy dogs on the seas of fate. There we have it folks. Our worst fears – a world going down.

I seriously, seriously wanted to give you a good time story. A story to warm the cockles of your heart and make your lovemaking sweet. But this is it.

Sure. Here I am. This is my soapbox. The doomsday fucker if you would will.

I also wanted to come to you with a pristine clean slate, all dressed honorably in the shine of some righteous sheen. Sorry.

I tried. Not hard enough I guess. But the failure is something that I can shrug and stick in my back pocket. Make a necklace of bones from the dead children. Draw war paint dipped in the blood of the millions. Mercilessly accept the bullets piercing my self-satisfied preening.

Masochistic? Nah. Too poor to afford the rent on the pleasure. Sure, I can spin a mean porn engine – enough to give your wieners a stiffy and leave your panties soaking. Shovel the coal at a cheery clip, into a BDSM engine to keep the panting, straining fever on. Score straight A’s in dispensing humiliation, degradation, and hatred…

Yeah.

I can also ignore that tsunami wave of sadness and spin up some psychobabble shit about cause and effect and ethereal dimensions of need and desire. Swallow back the cry and, stitch a bitter smile to look hunky, sexy droolsome. Turn the dagger in deeper, push the buttons on the engine of sexual desire to keep the fires running on a virtual circuit of tingles…

But it’s still all dressed up, pretentious, aping a “this how it should be” prissiness. Know what I mean?

I want to get - nakeder than naked. Y’know how it is when you really git down nekkid? Not the strip show at the confessional. Not the celebration at the six-pack-ab temple. The other kind. Where the wind wraps you in her embrace and the sunlight streams through your soul…

I guess the kosher thing to do for now is acknowledge the role of sovereignty of our wills. How we make the “fuck me too” choice due to the dimly lit hallways of our consciousness. And, how we (pathetically) look at the dying baby and cry while holding the bathwater.

It’s a pickle. Something’s going down. Some things have already gone down. Others are on the way up.

Stay tuned.

It is after all our fair sister.