Thursday, November 23, 2017
Oration
Judith is terrified about speaking
at the funeral. Stage Fright!
Even if it’s hers.
It’s ridiculous that the funeral directors
insist that since Rejuvs had to die in order
to be brought back, therefore...
But, LOBBY-Fever-AMERICA! grips!
Everywhere. Always.
(At any rate, the 80% Absurdity Index holds
steady in most fields.)
Longgggggg-time boyfriend Reck laughs,
“Hey I’m on my fourth life, each one
too fast I grant you, but I’ll bullshit any
group anytime.”
“It’ll kill me!” Judith all but sobs.
“Death figures of speech, and humor
are so Yesterday!”
“Bring it back!”
“Come on now, Honey! I’ll help you rehearse.
Not too egotistical to say nice things about
Judith 1.”
Labels: funeral, future, immortality, rejuvenation, several lives, stage fright
Saturday, March 11, 2017
An Allegory On the Banks of the Nihilism
Funeral
-You’ve come the longest way.
-I get the Space Prize.
-Definitely!
-The time prize too. I’m the oldest.
-Years ago I’m was amazed that some crustacean
would say “That must be fifty years ago! He married the Flynn girl, younger one.” Way old men and women talked back then.
-Fifty? Each one the same.
-No highs or lows?
-Not really. Irons out.
-Anyway! We hafta catch up with every one!
Last time I saw you...!
-Let’s not bother. One boring year same as
another as I say.
-Is the right corpse in the box?
-God rest her soul...but from what?
Labels: boredom, death, depression, funeral, lack of spirit, Old Age
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Matters of Privacy
Denham kept to himself. Fact known in the small
apartment house.
But the twin sisters brought him a rice pudding, a
custom, they explained, on this day of St Ambrose,
the Grocer.
Much girlish amusement as to nothing ever done
for St Ambrose the Good!
In that relatively warm, if ecclesiastical, atmosphere,
Denham made tea.
When you got the twins on your hands, this the
quickest way to get rid of them.
He promised to return the bowl, but they said
no hurry. So he washed and polished it over a
week, to give the gossips no ammunition.
Then, stored it a bit, next to his Giants mugs.
For Deirdre, the twin with the shooting eye, had died.
He made his way to her viewing in their apartment,
hoping to be the last.
He was, and at the end mentioned the bowl to Destiny,
who blinked and blinked claiming it wasn't important
for now.
Denham took a deep breath, in preparation for his
escape, but when he got his hand on the doorknob,
it just tuned and turned in a lumpy circle.
No use calling Arthur, who was resting his bad back
and wouldn't come anyway.
She closed Deirdre's coffin and put on popcorn.
Announcing both that they were two adults, and that
there would be no silly mourning prohibitions either,
including not watching the Giants and Eagles in the
Thursday night game just starting.
Labels: apartment house, death, Eagles, eccentrics, football, funeral, funeral customs, Giants, gossip, loneliness, saints, sex, twins
Wednesday, September 09, 2015
Necessary Ceremonies
Tiny “Murks” goes missing. And Hobnel sick almost,
while frantically searching.
But...a daily occurrence. And the elusive Murks
always shows up around dinner, meriting the
best little tin of cat food.
It grows dark, though, and we exhaust all
the hiding places.
“Dark cat on a dark night...maybe he's heat-
seeking.” From Zello, the beer distributor
who always wore Birkenstocks. "They say
you're never too old,” he confides to Nehru-
jacketed Doc.
Before you think we're a bunch of hippies, we're
a bunch of hippies. Never fully reclaimed by the
coherent world.
Bent, who channels Walt Whitman, finds Murks
dead under some wiry brush.
"No sign of violence," pronounces Doc. “Just
his time.”
Bent then embarks on a bad trip, and Doc quickly
places him into Shoreline Clinic. So he can’t compose anything for the funeral.
It falls to Zollo, somehow. "I'm...a blunt man.
A lovely, lovely cat. A miraculous creature
of God to take your breath away!"
Tillie then lifts the lid off the shoebox, and her
artwork, so we all could eventually see Murks
darkly nestled into multicolored scarves--
once she nudges one aside, its silver-
embroidered M.
Zollo loses it. "I never cry," he keeps repeating.
Then we all do.
We toast Murks at Kippy's Kool Kup after,
individually rubbing Hobnel's shoulders too.
Lillian pushes us aside, her profession and she
doesn’t abide amateurs.
Then we all beg her, and she massages each
in turn as Kippy keeps the Seven and Sevens
flowing her way.
Labels: bad trip, Birkenstocks, cat, funeral, hangout, hippy, massage, Seagram, Walt Whitman
Thursday, August 14, 2014
-Good we have funerals. So,
saying goodbye to somebody you haven’t seen in years.
-Not so! I ran into the corpse last year when the
Steelers came in.
-Don’t mention that game. I’m still sick!
-Don’t take it too far, or you’ll be lying there soon
with New York Giant decals on the coffin.
-You discovered my last wish!
-Rest in relative peace!
-But how about you? Still the Rebel Without a Cause?
-I won’t be the stuffed dummy in the box! That’s
for sure!
-Yeah, yeah? Conform in some fuckin something,
will you? You’re a total faggot bore!
-It’s stupid!
-Life is fuckin stupid. Grow up!
-I refuse.
-Refuse! Confuse! Defuse! Shut up!
-Our friendship never changes.
-Huh! I got real friends!
-You’re just trying to hurt.
-What’s this? Chickflick?
Labels: chickflick, custom, friends, funeral
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
One thing I've noted
in foreign TV drama:
the promises at funerals
more jazzily elaborate.
For what that’s worth.
But did the New World err
in flattening Heaven
to speed up Earth?
in foreign TV drama:
the promises at funerals
more jazzily elaborate.
For what that’s worth.
But did the New World err
in flattening Heaven
to speed up Earth?
Labels: Earth, faith, foreign TV, funeral, heaven, New World, religion
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Defining Moments
When the new ballpark opened, our gang hit the open house. Actually taking turns at the batting cage, like our high-paid heroes.
Jixxy performed his usual athletic mishmash,
but cheered the rest of us.
He passed that night.
I thought, when coherent, an autopsy with one so young? But Doc confided,
“Nah. Bad heart since a kid, in the family.
Knew his days were numbered and spent
them in...well, love really.”
I spoke at the service about Lincoln’s phrase:
with charity for all.
Felt inadequate after, that my words not much.
But my girlfriend, Fay, whispered, “You were great, what you said!...well, Lincoln and Jixxy belong in the same breath is all. But I just can't be like them. I just can’t. I try, but...
God knows I try!”
“Nah. Bad heart since a kid, in the family.
Knew his days were numbered and spent
them in...well, love really.”
I spoke at the service about Lincoln’s phrase:
with charity for all.
Felt inadequate after, that my words not much.
But my girlfriend, Fay, whispered, “You were great, what you said!...well, Lincoln and Jixxy belong in the same breath is all. But I just can't be like them. I just can’t. I try, but...
God knows I try!”
Then she exploded in tears and I didn’t know if it was for Jixxy or her or everything.
Labels: Baseball, death, funeral, insight, Lincoln
