Jeremiah's School of Levitation
Upsy-Daisy!
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Ode to the Dark Side
Over the sporatic course of my blogging (by the way, I've come up with a great way to assure that I blog everyday--details tomorrow!) I often get caught in the trap of thinking that, to remain aloft, afloat, sidereal, frivolous, and irrelevant means to always present an air of cheeriness. But every now and then, in real life, when I glance at my face in the rear view mirror, I ain't smiling so big.
No worries, I tell myself, as I suddenly spot a freeway sign that reads: "Caution: Weaving traffic ahead" (So, does this sign mean that we are no longer denouncing drunk driving but, instead, are now just endorsing a practice of careful tolerance? Will we start seeing signs at airplane entrances that say "Caution: Pilot has not been subjected to a test of blood alcohol content"?) And, so, the smile returns to my eyes.
However, this doesn't absolve me from needing to acknowledge that, really, in order to stay celestial, I need to jettison the negative load every now and then. And, the way to do that, for me, is to go kick a cat. KIDDING!! See, that already felt better. No, what I need to do is kick the FIGURATIVE cat, that is, just give a wink to my dark side, write it a little serenade, and inveigle it to come out and see the light of day. Well, when ole DS complies, and comes out, it meets with the killing sunlight and that dark weight squeals pitifully in the revealing light of day and burns off like a lit fart, thereby lightening my load. I then use the gaseous remains of its flaming demise to provide lift for my umbrella.
I do this regularly, in my journal. It's often too incendiary to print (but, if you can wait until my posthumous biography, you can read them all!), but I'll cast out a few of my "Odes to the Dark Side" here in the blog, just so you too can feel my pain! Or, smell the lit fart! Ewww!
Here goes, unedited:
"I left the door open last night and so the trash got in. It came right up to the bed and got in with me. At first, I didn't notice, but the unmistakeable odors of eggshells still slimy from the yolk and orange peels reeking the spice of decaying citric acid and milk gone to seed all wrapped me and squeezed me awake. I turned and, with my nose in a bunch, I embraced the trash and pulled it close. A bit of old meat found my lips and I parted mine and wiped the bitter meat with a gentle swipe of the tip of my tongue. It was unresponsive, yet alive with putrification. I pulled the trash closer until I couldn't tell where trash ended, and I began. I like it when we love this way, trash and I."
No worries, I tell myself, as I suddenly spot a freeway sign that reads: "Caution: Weaving traffic ahead" (So, does this sign mean that we are no longer denouncing drunk driving but, instead, are now just endorsing a practice of careful tolerance? Will we start seeing signs at airplane entrances that say "Caution: Pilot has not been subjected to a test of blood alcohol content"?) And, so, the smile returns to my eyes.
However, this doesn't absolve me from needing to acknowledge that, really, in order to stay celestial, I need to jettison the negative load every now and then. And, the way to do that, for me, is to go kick a cat. KIDDING!! See, that already felt better. No, what I need to do is kick the FIGURATIVE cat, that is, just give a wink to my dark side, write it a little serenade, and inveigle it to come out and see the light of day. Well, when ole DS complies, and comes out, it meets with the killing sunlight and that dark weight squeals pitifully in the revealing light of day and burns off like a lit fart, thereby lightening my load. I then use the gaseous remains of its flaming demise to provide lift for my umbrella.
I do this regularly, in my journal. It's often too incendiary to print (but, if you can wait until my posthumous biography, you can read them all!), but I'll cast out a few of my "Odes to the Dark Side" here in the blog, just so you too can feel my pain! Or, smell the lit fart! Ewww!
Here goes, unedited:
"I left the door open last night and so the trash got in. It came right up to the bed and got in with me. At first, I didn't notice, but the unmistakeable odors of eggshells still slimy from the yolk and orange peels reeking the spice of decaying citric acid and milk gone to seed all wrapped me and squeezed me awake. I turned and, with my nose in a bunch, I embraced the trash and pulled it close. A bit of old meat found my lips and I parted mine and wiped the bitter meat with a gentle swipe of the tip of my tongue. It was unresponsive, yet alive with putrification. I pulled the trash closer until I couldn't tell where trash ended, and I began. I like it when we love this way, trash and I."
Labels: dark side
Elliot, 6:35 AM
4 Back at me:
In a sick way, I love this.
Whence comes the expectation of cheeriness?
I am a prisoner to my sense of smell. I think I'd rather be confronted by a bad guy with a gun than a bad guy with a piece of poo on a stick. Becoming one with the garbage freaks me out.
Flutter: Love must embrace sickness.
Meno: From meself, I fear. I takest medicine for mine ailment, however, in the form of intoxicating spirits in the evenings when I withdraw to mine parlor.
Stucco: Ah, I can see why my robbery career came to a quick end. My poo on a stick weapon didn't seem to scare anyone. Looks like I just didn't hang with it long enough to get to rob you!
Meno: From meself, I fear. I takest medicine for mine ailment, however, in the form of intoxicating spirits in the evenings when I withdraw to mine parlor.
Stucco: Ah, I can see why my robbery career came to a quick end. My poo on a stick weapon didn't seem to scare anyone. Looks like I just didn't hang with it long enough to get to rob you!
