Tag Archives: Words

Ambivalent Songs of Love

I never want to do laundry with a woman again as long as I live. I do not want to go shopping, camping, visiting either of our families or driving in a strange city with a woman ever again. I will cook breakfast, but not lunch or dinner, and she has to stay out of the kitchen before, during and after (I’ll do the dishes, thanks anyway). If this means I live the rest of my life without ever having intimate relations with a woman again, so it goes.

In Being There, Peter Sellers as Chauncey Gardener is sitting on the edge of the bed with Shirley McLaine as Eva Rand (thank you, Wiki). Eva seems very interested in having intimate relations with Chauncey, who is transfixed by the small television in the bedroom. In a voice as gentle as a garden mister in the hands of a master, so gentle it hydrates the most delicate flowers without disturbing their petals, Chauncey tells her he wants to pay attention to the television. “I like to watch,” he says.

I like to write. I love writing the broken lines, the paragraphs, the very short stories, the odes, chansons, dreams in the daytime. I conjure spells with all the delight of a fine candymaker – sweet, rich chocolate with no hint of redeeming nutrition. I seek the melting on the tongue, disappearing as quickly as it comes. It’s often inappropriate, so I don’t write my notes to people I do business with (though I write my own social greetings and embody Savaj tributes in the message). And when it gives offense (once in six dozen times), I am truly sorry and I take care not to write there again.

After that exquisite afternoon nap with you, my love (you know who you are), I really don’t need to sleep with a woman again. It could happen, and I would be happy, but it’s not a priority. I will never be married nor cohabitate again (I swear). But I’ll write. I recently signed up with personals again – I am not going to coffee, but there are intriguing questions from time to time that bring up NoblSavaj and through him, Minotaur – all the little devices lurking deep in my tarnished, beaten romance. I write without expectation of reply or continued correspondence. I write with deep care and sincere gift with no intention, pure or otherwise.

I just thought I should add that to the disclaimers.

Roland’s Aphorism and the Right Word

Recently, Roland said, “You know, it’s always the right fucking thing to do the right fucking thing.”

And then the other night Jon Stewart, mad as hell, ranted about a guest on Glenn Beck’s program who said right out that it would be a good thing if Osama Bin Laden set off a WMD in America because it would make national security a priority again. In his rant, Stewart used the word “fuck” several times and it was bleeped each time. Then Stewart said something like “Those of you at home just heard several bleeps when I used the word, ‘[bleep]’ because the government wants to protect you from a word that crudely describes the sex act while they allow some stupid son of a bitch advocate the mass murder of Americans as a means to rearrange priorities to fit his agenda.”

I’m being too lazy to go back and get the exact quote, but you get the idea. The thing is, as Lenny Bruce pointed out long ago, some words carry a perjorative power that there is no other adequate word to replace them. “Gosh darnit” just doesn’t have the same connotative, expressive power that “shit” does.

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