Dirty Dancing At The Lion & Pig Masquerade

Take the shame out of shameless and what are you left with??  Good old-fashioned "less," which is really more, depending on how you look at it.  Aahh... it's great to have the sun on your back and the wind in your face!  It's like flat-belly foods... tough to incorporate but so pleasing to the ego.  Want to know my super-hot sex secret?!  Well I'm not telling.  It comes down to body & mind, the theories of Darwin, accidental superstars, even morbid de-railings of the Eastern European mafia... the people who are always talking about psychology tomorrow and how pirates helped shape American Democracy.  The past 25 years have been but a blur, the likes of which will never fully come into focus, just lingering, hanging on like a broken eyelash that won't fall away but rather sticks in its cynicism, its ostentatious contempt.  Black is the night, crimson is the tide, none is the number... and organic is the fond farewell we bade unto our forefathers all those winters ago.    Did you know that bacon is now a miracle drug?  And a kiss can cure your allergies?  Modern science is marvelous, isn't it?  I mean where would we be without hard-working farm boys and Italian supermodels?  Rolling on the river, that's where we'd be!  I heard there's a new restaurant in the South Pacific that calls for 'Taster's Choice' and a 61% savings certificate when you cross the threshold, but after that it's business as usual.  Kindness in the office setting is a great motivator to do something productive.  Did you know that Eugen Sandow would keep smelling salts on hand to revive women who had passed out after touching his muscles?  I can't possibly fathom a world where the "home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison."  But I can take naked bird-calling and mold it into a modern day sport with plenty of resilience and vitality to choke a hen twice, provided there's enough elastic left to fend off the fermentation.   Jotting down fascinating and incendiary remarks is nothing new: it's been common practice for many moons, yet now comes in such a charming little parcel.  It's yours truly, the Appalling Mr. Bardot!  So why do I, the Tramp, care to revisit the gal next door, the girl with perfect teeth and a derrière extraordinaire?  Because I am, quite frankly, a fool.  But a grandiose fool, with his heart on his sleeve, his head in the clouds and his mind in a gutter.  Full-figured love is oftentimes the best kind of love.  And because of that, I'm going to make it my mission to expose the overly-skinny ones, the self-conscious ones, the ones who are in full-throttle, the race cars in the red.  They're the ones you're after, officer!  They're the ones with stage envy.  Self-promoters, like crazy old Maurice... out to get theirs any way they can, but always good for a laugh.  It's an exquisite study in human behavior.  "It's like Lennon said... you know, you look for the one who will benefit, and... um..."   Mere conjecture.  There are 3 million ways to die, choose one.  How about a tablespoon of nutmeg?  If so, there'd be only one man for the job: an inspiration to "The Northern Diver," Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself, once said... "You notice the red clay on the edges of the soles of her shoes, and the only such clay within 20 miles of Edinburgh is in the Botanic Gardens."  I say, won't you dream a little dream with me?  Let's pretend you're waiting by our white picket fence as I arrive home from work... wait, no... I'm waiting while you get home from work... (that's more like it)... and there's our dog, or someone's dog... do we have a dog?  What was I saying?  Well, anyway... it's probably not important.  What is important is how you come to greatness, to be this overbearing shadow lurking in the background, in the darkness, waiting for evil to strike, and when it does we won't feel a thing, because there you are, triumphant and golden and tired.  But until that day comes, keep your ear to the grindstone.  Because you see, how it works is... the train moves, not the station.

Bon Appetit!

Globetrotting For The Meek

Apparently I’m two days late and about 35 lbs. shy of a perfectly harmonious mental state.  Trouble in China, it’s as clear as day, staring me right in the face.  We play it aloof, but we know better.  “…Oh Henry boy, the pipes, the pipes are ca’alling!”  I would like to take this time to present an opportunistic shout to arms!!  Oh hear me gentle lads and gals… as I say unto you, heaven can be yours – for a price.  But what a small price, what an insignificant sacrifice that we are asked to make?!  A fully realized sense of collectedness can be had and felt as the norm, habitual, if only you'd give us the keys to your Jalopy and a picture of your sexy Aunt in the red dress... you know that red one she always wears after she tans?  The beast it lay weary and baren, and we come knocking with our mallets and our fear and our sense of adventure and we will claim our prize!  As the Great Daniel Quinn writes about the "hot frog"... GET OUT!!  Shake it up, or else life itself will pass you by.  Any dreams you have of becoming Queen Bee of Badminton, or maybe Jackie with the long shanks, or a passive-aggressive, singing on street corners about the role of religion in government and who killed sole proprietorship, or even a nonchalant expatriate who's out to find his/her own spoiled fountain of youth.  The point is.... you have it.  But you've got to harness it, trust in it, submit to the visceral experience, the infinite silent radiance.  So pack your bags and throw yourself in line.  Because it is here, now...LIVE... (albeit way off Broadway).  You call yourself a salesman?  I don't think so, Levene! Well bust my buttons, as I like to say.  I also say "drinks are on the house!", although I rarely mean it.  I need to get lost and go full belly up, Pepe and PR status - eyeball to eyeball (talk about drinks on the house!).  It's in the paper, it's everywhere.  Didn't you see it?  Are you able?  Well maybe not yet, but soon enough.  Cut off your sleeves and hit the pavement, but leave that pack of smokes.  You won't need 'em where we're going. It's the only way to travel... I'm pained through thirst and it is all that will quench.  Oh, to be sure!  I shall now leave you with one of my personal favorites, and please.. save your applause for the end.  JK, and I quote,

"They danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn...."

Godspeed and goodnight

Testing.. Testing... 1,2!

Thus we are brought here, finally, in this wicked and gentle hour to ignite... strike that... to pioneer... um... to launch and raise high above all things this virtuoso and ye his crowning achievement: this daunting scroll that is about to be unleashed and presented in such jaw-dropping, inspiring fashion, as to wreak glorious havoc on all who are exposed to it.  In an hour such as this, it is appropriate to point out that we, feeble and wearisome (weary cleavers in the hands of dumb, sullen giants), are capable of greatness, although notwithstanding the fact it lies deep within our awareness... We outlast, we prevail and persevere with astute courtesy and without compromise, and we enjoy taking part in the lathering of emotional lotion that is our cup of warm milk.  "Oh, sing us a song.. Mr. Bardot!" Rich with imagination and technical wiring. Oh!, to slam your back in a corner and force a glistening pride and sense of calm that's directed at your representation of an acquired skill set that can bring to life anything your long and inappropriate ears can dissect. Or, you might just scream inwardly in grief and despondency, for you lack said possession of anything that can be held up to the magic you desire, that your heart collapses for, that your soul has been seeking on its long and laboriously misguided journey into the "Great Big Blue!"  Yet in all this straight-forward talk, I can't help but think... do I twist my pant-legs up my calfs, roast a bowl and call it a sunny day?... or do I kick the dust off my boots, break down the door and spill my innermost desirings onto this circling stone... this twisting, sinister and gluttonous contagion?  I mean after all, the Babylon System is the Vampire.  And it will feast on thee if you allow it, if you continue to sift and wade in that slowly boiling pot that is melting your "level head."  Oh, who the hell knows, eh?...  Maybe Santa won't come back next year... and if that's the case, we might just have to eat our own lousy cooking! Anyone for bridge?