Monday, June 22, 2015

Life (TV)

Good for over first three... Have seen more yet.

Dirty Wars

Put the record on.

The record on. P•ut the record on. Put the record on. Put the record on.

Call it old-style, call it new style. Put the record on. Eeeeyaaa• Eeeeeeyaaaa. Put the record on.
We can be me and you, because any one who sees us knows that we're together. But we cannot be together because each of us knows where apart. Put the …. so where do I begin? Because the story has already started, but there is no structure to the narrative. And Miss Lang in seventh grade wanted to start where the narrative was. I guess I have screwed that up again. At least I stopped getting the repetition over by the third paragraph. Well that is start, even if I do not like where it is going.

Everyone has a word, for, the act of fornication. That is mine. You may prefer “fuck”, or “ make love” or something else. Each one sets a course for what happens afterwards, which is the point of the story. Because there are before sex stories, after sex stories, and stories where sex is not part of the equation. Obviously, the word “sex” is someone else's word for it – because if it had been my I would have said “act of fornication” with out even thinking about it. This is after the act, when there is still some sweat on the man's head, but not the woman's, but she has not gone to the bathroom – quite yet. But she is thinking about it, and if you must know, she is the type that after enacting fornication, very soon she wants to go to the bathroom – even if she does not think she is going to need it, because, anyway she has to try. That in this provision moment the man clears his throat and actually wants to say something. Something important, or at least, he thinks it is important. And she being female, wants to listen to him – even if it is not important in the larger scheme of things.

“Why is it that we feel a part, after the act of fornication – when we should be together.”

The woman fights the urge to go to the bathroom, and says “ why should we want to be together, when where only having sex – not making love. I will be right back, I think I need to go to the bathroom.” and she did, and then he knew that it was not important. Because otherwise she would have stayed and talked this important point out. But she went to the bathroom, and that meant it was only marginally important, if at all. He stopped and waited for the flush, because before the flush if there was nothing, then she had not really needed to go. And not moved his point down to the least important of all. The one that says she goes even though she probably does not have to. When the flush happen, it was very faintly preceded by the trickling down, which meant that she had gone.

Put the record on.

Yes Ian, I am bunking off from starting the next section of Marne.

The woman got back to the bed, and her eyes dilated, though he did not know what this was intending. And she was not going to say, because he had asked that question and had not gone any response to it at all.

“So what were we going to talk about?” She said.

“We were talking about how I thought we should be together, and you, obviously, do not feel that way at all.”

“It is true, I have never felt even the remotest “we” sort of thing. Have you, I mean with me, because you have felt it on some occasion, which you have not described to me yet. Or at least I assume that is true.”

“Yes it is.”

“So, tell me about a time which you felt as one with the other person.”

He closed his eyes, and begin to describe an instance where his ex-wife and he had found closure.

Amissed all of the babbling, which she listened to intently, wear as he caught every second word is so of her discourse, he tried to describe that while you knew that the other person was still separated, the sense of closure was extraordinarily small. And what that feeling really felt like. When he had finished, and she nodded, she began a reposte:

“It seems to me that there is nothing there which could not be described in very ordinary terms.”

He thought about it, and try to explain that there was something mystical about the experience – which obviously he did not capture. He was but start again, when she took her finger and touched it to his lips. “You can describe it some other time. It is clear that the pixies of creation have not finished forming the words that I can relate to.”

He, of course, was crestfallen. How could he describe this sensation, when it was obvious that she did not think anything of it? Maybe it was not mystical, or maybe he was not describing it, or maybe the two of them were not supposed to be together. He rolled over on his stomach, and pushed his belly up to look out side the spring air, and smelled the coming of the rain in a place that was almost like Albany, NY, but not quite. It was Michigan, which he pronounced with three syllables, but she needed two. Her voice was decidedly European, but her silhouette was a mixture of half European and half African. He drank in the form, even though she had exited the bed and was doing her hair.

Maybe she was right, why try and layer on top of this sex, something which is mystical for each person. So he put on a record, which was there first bond, collecting vinyl and listening to the bands which made a point out of making vinyl records, often if they did nothing else.

But, put the record on.

Schuller Dies

Summer Vaction

 anyway,  though not quite finished with The Marne  ghost story first act,  it  is going to be summer.  which means I have to start teaching at the local college,  and,  for a large part, not  getting anything done.  which means I should type of a short short tail about politics as it is viewed from two young gentlemen talking about an older gentleman when he was young.  I suppose I will leave this on this blog,  and  be done with it.  it is a tale about the older generation of people giving way to the younger generation.