Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Head On Down the Highway

Hard work and a modest amount of prosperity generally mean that from time-to-time, he feels he must pay the devil her due. It’s a sacred tradition for him. On his own, after dark, he plots a course. Fulfilling the mission is now just a shadow of its former self which has disappeared into the depths of his subconscious. There it happily keeps company with all the obvious desires of the young at heart.

These days, his needs are sustained by a familiar voice which is impossible to ignore because it insists, “there’s what’s right and there’s what’s fair!” He has earned the right to be here tonight, to parade around town his store house of sublimated desires. If later he is to be held accountable, he will claim that he was in fact being true—true to himself. As for loyalty, frankly speaking, it has always been and will always be a sentiment that he and his secrets have complicitly ignored.

Time was the anticipation of the act outpaced the thing itself; then the thing replaced anticipation when it became an art form and every act was an attempt to re-create a masterpiece; then, much later in life, it ceased to be art when the thing was widely available by the truckloads and at reasonable rates.

Typically, these days, if he finds her, he finds that she is a woman relatively mature in age. She's taken on board as much for her needs as well as for his. 

This act can be as simple as a kiss or as complicated as, well, as complicated as a woman.

9 Comments:

Blogger booda baby said...

Wow.

With the exception of this impenetrable (just for me and my tiny headedness) line: It’s a luxuriant sentiment that his secreted instincts have pushed well beyond his all-too-human inability to afford at this late stage. THIS IS fantastical and delivers to me that thing you deliver so well. Evocative - wait. How do I finish that word? Evocativeness? Ick. Evocativication. None of them.

Sensuality. THAT's what you deliver.

5:39 AM  
Blogger Mimi's Pa said...

What a great way to start the day--coffee, a pomegranate and orange juice mocktail, strawberry yogurt and a "Wow" from a person whose many talents never cease to "wow" me. I exchanged the word "luxuriant" for an adverb and a generic parenthetical--I'm trying to cut back on parentheticals (too many calories).

He's glad Booda didn't whack him up side the head for the "as complicated as a woman" remark.

merci!

7:31 AM  
Blogger booda baby said...

Get OUT!! Do not feel obliged in ANY way to flatter me so.

I'm commenting once more because I thought the 'as complicated as a woman' line was so ... right. Pointed, but not enough to break flesh. I really liked it. I think any woman who objects is just being a pain in the ass.

6:26 AM  
Blogger Mimi's Pa said...

Whatever happened to Camille Paglia, anyway?

9:02 AM  
Anonymous Marco said...

She runs a house in New Orleans now.

6:04 AM  
Anonymous Elizabeth said...

And what a way to end that entry. I see it every day here.

Write some more Mr. Oliver!

1:14 PM  
Blogger Mimi's Pa said...

I'm trying to write about Poipet--something nice. I could easily crap on it, but, eh, it's been done. There's something about that sleazy little border town I've grown fond of; it has a certain Tijuanacity.

6:52 PM  
Blogger booda baby said...

Hellllloooooo ...

5:41 AM  
Blogger Mimi's Pa said...

Oh--hi Ms. Booda. I'd walk across the room and blow two European air kisses in the vicinity of your cheeks but I'm stuck, having painted myself into this corner. Dusty,shady, scam ridden border towns it seems are what they are. I've been trying to beg to differ. Maybe I should leave this alone and move on to some other place, time and event. And I will, as soon as I admit that Poipet, Cambodia isn't meant to be anything other than an ugly monkey. I'm not quite ready to cry uncle.

7:13 AM  

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