. . . . . . . Loving life means you care for all the little details. After burning fast through so many years, the motorcyclist in me is forced to conclude that the little details are what derail you. And faster than you can blink, it can all be gone — in an instant, a second.
. . . . . . . Life forces you to take the role of motorcyclist.
TELEPORT TO (click on the blue below if you don’t want to read this entry)
“Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace.” — Eugene O’Neill
“If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door.” — Milton Berle
“Every day is a new opportunity. You can build on yesterday’s success or put its failures behind and start over again. That’s the way life is, with a new game every day, and that’s the way baseball is.” — Bob Feller
Think of this brief poem:
- Forever am I searching for you
- Sender of the signal
- Bender of the prime law
- Render of the sequel
. . . . . . . What is the signal? What is the prime law? They are expressions of the ultimate flex, the greater design. Nothing comes close to describing the sequel. It is a society that is not unlike the best of movies, little bits taken from scene upon scene.
. . . . . . . It is not science-fiction, exactly. It is more like: unearthly. The future should be utterly unlike the past. But it should also be unlike past portrayals of the future. The future should just IS.
. . . . . . . Render of the sequel. Grab my hand and help lift me up. I can’t catch my balance without you. I need to know that what I’m doing is right in somebody’s books. It can’t all be judgment and black thunder.
If you ever want to know what’s going on, seek the origin point, seek yourself.
. . . . . . . You aren’t your own sender of the signal. These come through your works, your forgiveness-before-the-meeting, your agreeable nature. You and I close our eyes at the same time and come to an understanding from mind unto mind.
. . . . . . . The prime law is ten thousand phases merged into one. It is the name of the game. It is society, shrunk to a single line of computer code. Granted, it’s an awful long line of code, but it is just one. It continues on and on.
. . . . . . . Forever. Forever and forever. In a way I could never pine for a woman, I pine for you, bender/renderer. I need to see through different eyes. I need an intellectual giant like myself. What is the measure of a Catxman but a Wizxman who gifts his wand upon the player?
The poem lingers in the mind with an aftertaste of scotch and whiskey. It is meant to be sultry as the black velvet of the famous pop song. With new notes of music clanging around the head, the heart is sure to follow soon.
. . . . . . . I can be the player who gets all the girls. Can write of some of these adventures. They have lessons to teach, the seductions do. Marked as they are, the climaxes are moments of sheer delight because they’re a victory among other things.
. . . . . . . It’s almost time to reach out my hand and pretend to lift the girls up. A girl, however, can never be lifted up. I don’t do favors for females. I buy no drinks, I serve as no bodyguard, I let them gooooo … and falllll … You can argue “they should have known better” but I appear as most sincere. I seem to be the alpha-male who renders decisions but also bends his own nature to provide true love at the end. I am eagerly looking forward to this future which is unlike that past. The differences and similarities of bender and girlfriend are striking. Bender can be my friend. I can trust him. Girlfriend I can talk endless monologues to, entertaining myself. Bender/girlfriend — dichotomy of lust for mind/lust for body. Everything must be satisfied.
. . . . . . . Everything.
I started out referring to a man in this entry but as time went on and I modified the song played and a few other details it could flip over to referring to a woman instead. Maybe I do need love on some level and my being a player would interfere with that. But that reminds me of a porn star (“hardest” working man in showbiz) Ron Jeremy saying he wouldn’t mind getting married … if he could still ball the little beeyatches on the side.
Could it be that men are poisoned? That men’s eagerness to have a mistress or a whole harem is detrimental to their psychological good health? The smashing of two Tonka yellow trucks together.