What is it about this weird weiry time
between the seasons of universal brotherly love-
maybe we can pay for your mother’s new canary cage
by not eating for a week-
just after the shortest day of the year,
“when the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls,”
that mystical time
when it is dark dark dark,
and everyone suddenly drinks too much,
or takes too many sun baths,
and reads the weather list each day to see when sunrise and sunset are,
(in the hopes that they are more than three minutes apart)
that makes everyone suddenly waft philosophical-
just what we need.
Or do you think a picture of a small round-headed boy,
and his beagle,
suddenly minus joe cool sunglasses,
but with a myriad of chirping friends
staring at a pitiful
two laughable strands of tinsel
drooping at half mast,
remains of a Christmas tree,
and sighing plaintively,
on the horizon,
a pirate appears,
horned helmet over flaming red hair,
dragon ship in the distance,
grabs the pitiful tree,
throws it out a window,
taking a bow for his theatricality,
then growling frighteningly,
before distributing a double armload of
“Swedish furniture house”
which are promptly leapt upon
by Joe Cool,
who is in the process of refurnishing his pad,
and his chirping friends,
who want a salt-water sauna
where they can eat their hemp and birdseed
breakfast mixed-grain muesli
(this is California, remember)
before getting on their 144 speed
for a trip over the golden gate bridge-
in the dark…..
(And wet. This is the wet season in California-
Noah would be jealous-
buy rubber boots
and three pairs of sneakers-
that should last about one day.
Oh, and if you hear a creaking sound,
your house is probably slowly sliding into the sea-
but, of course,
if you think that this kind of life,
described with meticulous exactness,
and great attention to absolute correctness,
not to mention full Technicolor,
is in any way normal…..
So where were we?
Love of my life.
And the stupid people who won’t let him get on with the important stuff.
Even if they are ok most of the time.
Especially when they remember the dog food.
Rock on, good buddy.
And his view of the world.
Which is pretty profound, when you think of it.
Work a little, write a little,
chat up the birds-
Then a little philosophy,
a few adventures in odd places and with unusual people
you didn’t really plan-
like who plans a French farmhouse in WWI already?
and then back home,
under enemy fire,
and barbed wire,
to a dog house that is obviously larger on the inside than on the outside.
and a few candles on,
even if the one I am looking at at the moment
a spastic clear-plastic Christmas tree
lighted from within,
that would probably rock,
and play Grandma got run over by a reindeer
if I let it.
Which I won’t.
Because then I would have to laugh.
And this entire dramatic moment of dark dreary Hegelian Angst
I have created
would be for nought.
So where was that switch again?
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