from ‘Unto New Idols’:

Taking my albino monkey puppet Don from my backpack and placing him on my left hand, my little friend seemed to take on a life of his own—and the world around me softened as if unto a dream……
“The monkey shines at midnight…!” I cried in a hoarse, defiant whisper, and fled into the wild!

Unchastened by the pangs whereby I have been driven…
I broke from the tree line at an all-out run and splashed down into the lake, wetting both myself and my monkey thoroughly.
“Wehl, what ‘ave we gots ‘ere, eh?” the Pirate on the shore demanded, removing his wooden leg and waving it at me. “Arg, a landlubber, I’d warrant! Who then would ye be, me fellow?!”
“Call me… Ishmael!” I said.
“A landlubber, indeedy,” the Pirate spat, disgusted. “Ye’ve a mighty stupid name thar, me laddy!”
I raised my left hand and the Pirate’s gaze met that of the monkey I held. “This is Don.”
For half a moment the Pirate turned deathly pale; I thought for sure he would faint—but then the blood rushed into his face, his cheeks becoming flushed with rage.
“Arg, thar he be! That great white devil! Blowin’ spume, an’ givin’ me the fin! I’ll have ye yet, O beast o’ hell, an’ I’ll wear ye on a chain about me neck!”
The Pirate began running toward me, but he still held his wooden extremity in his hand, so he ended up face down in the sand.
I walked out to the lake, stepping over the Pirate—now choking on his beard, which he seemed to have partially swallowed.
“It’s a monkey, you rat-bastard,” I said; “it doesn’t have a fin to give you.”



from ‘My Friday at the Belgian Consulate’:

—and so I said to her,
in a thickly accented brogue
of ironically exuberated sexuality:
“Where would you like me
to stick my stuff?”

As if all aghast,
“I beg your pardon!”

(I love it when they beg…)
Forsooth!
“Where shall I place
my jacket and hat
to be out of your way?”

“Oh.” Disappointment.

“Perhaps I could
shove it up my ass—
then, later, we could all
sing about it.”

“You’re funny,”
she said,
not at all amused…

“Funny, like I make you
want to laugh?…
or funny, like you think
I’m sort of strange?”

“Funny, like I’d like
to hit you with a brick.”

That’s pretty funny…
“I’ll just take this desk—
here, on the far side
of the office from
your masonry cache…”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got
a pretty good arm…”

“I’ll keep that in mind
when it comes time to retrieve
my jacket and hat……




Furrinalia

…and so I slept for nine nights and nine days (not necessarily in that order), and when I awoke I was on an island in a great lake… (—no relation… and, anyway, some didn’t think it was so much)—and I wondered aloud, “Who could have drank all this beer?!” And a voice from on high lofted down from the glorious heavens above, to caress mine wanting… ears (I guess) …with words of subtle placation, indicating: “Well, uh, I would have to say… that would be you, there, Schmedley… now clean that mess up!” And I looked up to behold the very wonders of God—but it was only the Vaginal Monkey of Arinovkrod, Keeper of the Sacred Nookie, an ere primates both on high and down low (i.e. screeching, screaming, squaloring monkey-love [sic], etc.), famed in story and song… and bathroom walls… I was about to hit him in the ass with a bat, when he peed on me, and so all I could do was sputter and spit for quite a little while. And when all was again well—if a monkey-urine saturated sort of wellness—the little, freakin’ bastard was gone, and I thought, “Crazy-goddamned-dumbugly!!”—but, so, too, to soothe my sorried state, I watched a pod of breasts swim boldly out to sea and—

Oh, Well!
Carrotsticks for Henry… Marzipan for Ralph…
What if every time someone pooped, the world would end? But just a little…

Crazy, crazy dreams last night… verily a prisoner—locked away in my cell, working on my computer, in the dreary, monastic setting (only green)… eating but cheese and little macaroni noodles and bread… (no, I did not say “butt cheese,” you sick bastard!) And then I saved the day—by teaching the animals to speak! (that wasn’t in the dream…) Well, anyway, I did something (I think), and there were those who were pretty darned okay with it…
I’m sure there’s a message in it… hmmm… all very apparent, I’m sure… butanyhoo…

And on the morning after, I counted the freckles on her breasts… there were two of them, I informed her—and she said, “That’s right—only they’re called ‘nipples’.” And so, of course, I had to smack her around a bit… but then we made up. I told her I knew they were ‘nipples’—(Uh!—her and her fancy words for things!)—and it was them what distracted me from my freckle-count. She was understanding, and she was gracious… and (as may have been indicated) she had breasts—which were large, but firm, finely tanned, and lightly freckled. She gave me those nipples as a memento, and I wore them where I wear my own—close to my heart, in the deepest depths of my pelage—that I might always think on her whene’er I fondled my furriness… and then I tore her to shreds with my teeth and, engorged on her blood, threw her pieces in a pot with some eggs and some beer, and I made up a big, ol’ batch of girly stew—which then I et, so we might be together always… but then I pooped—and the world ended. If only just a little…

And so the journey begins………