Friday, August 08, 2008

"One Needs One's Brains All the Time"

Sex the Drive Behind Every Thing We Do
The McGreevys were in court today--that's the New Jersey governor who was caught giving blowjobs to his Israeli spy lover after posing as a great-type of husband, a magnificent father of magnificent children--and of course, there she was when he was running for governor, his trophy blond-babe wife, though a much more mature-looking person now in court in their highly publicized divorce trial--he's gayly enjoying being back in the spotlite again while she's shaking her head in disbelief as the court somehow seems to be favoring him against her. You see, even though he raked in millions prior to being and then being governor, he's now saying his gay lifestyle has left him broke--headin' for the poor house, and Mrs. McGreevy doesn't believe him and she's wantin' her million-buck payoff but the court is shedding crocodile tears over his dilemma.

Plus we here in the Commonwealth of New York have a blind-black governor now because of sex and Elliot Spitzer (turned out old Elliot's spritzer needed to be ejaculated on a more frequent basis than Mrs. Spitzer was able to provide) finding a hot little minky whore, a choice-piece-of-meat young Jersey girl--and the power and the glory went to the head of Elliot's dick and there went his political career down the untied tubes!

We all know of Bill Clinton's being unable to keep it in his pants due to the next-to-God power these fools think they have, power which makes them privileged, power which makes them think they are invisible to the public they are supposed to be serving!

Also, Reverend Jesse Jackson got caught fucking a young babe behind his darling, faithful wife's back. How 'bout the toe-tappin' Congressman from South Dakota who got caught playing gay footsie in a Minneapolis men's room with a vice cop! Look how dumb sex strikes these fools! Freud was right--and oh my god, the house just fell down around me--how despised old Sigmund is now; yet, I still dig reading him; like I've always said, he has a novelist's mind, which brings me closer to what grabbed my attention and brought me out of my loft bed where I was enjoying playing this damn good baseball game I've got on my laptop that resides up in my livingroom-den-bedroom combination living space that is actually my loft bed!

Remember, only a few posts back I mentioned Geraldo Rivera (an admitted sex maniac--it doesn't keep him from losing any jobs however--Geraldo always seems to get himself on teevee in some way or another--he poses as a crack-type reporter--oh, he's on crack alright, but to say the ex-Young Lords's Minister of Propaganda is a great reporter is just simply repeating the man's own PR bullshit, which is all it is is bullshit) and how Jerry Rivers banged old Jacob Javitts's wife, she was still a pretty good looking babe and old Jake had been in a wheelchair on a respirator for god-damn too long, and Mrs. Javitts was getting super horny and then one day there was crack reporter and sex maniac Geraldo Rivera there, he seemed interested, they flirted pretty heavy, and the next thing you know, old Jake is wheezing from the other room with the door open, "What the hell is going on in there, honey; I haven't heard you moan like that since I was still able to get it up--god-damn, that seems like a century ago."

Sex and politics. Sex and religion. I've worked in offices where women and men were banging like crazy, though the bigger the shot the hotter the babe that was got--or the higher paid the babe, the better brand of cheatin' husbands she got! One of my boss's wives went stark-raving nuts after their daughter was run over by a school bus. What did he do? Why, he divorced her and married his secretary, who then became an Account Exec. Sex in the office was quite common when I moved to New York City. Hell, sex back in Dallas, Texas, was quite common, too. Hell, sex wherever I've lived has been the dominating THING that ruled everything I did at one time--women always available to me from the time I got my first job until just recently when I've divorced my self from any kind of workplace--and don't get me wrong, don't think the women weren't enjoying free sex, too. As a young man I had many affairs with married women. As a married man I had many affairs with married women. My current female companion I've known for over 30 years now, I met one night when she was out cheating on her husband! She cheated on me when we were a couple; and I cheated on her.

I used to check out the babes in an office before I decided whether I wanted to work there or not. Publishing, teevee, and advertising always attracted some really bright, hotshot, and good-looker-types, some right out of colleges--especially Sarah Lawrence, Smith, Syracuse, Bryn Mawr, NYU--young and bright and looking to succeed and knowing one way to succeed in New York City was to find an already succeeding man, whether married or not.

Plus there used to be tons of music groupies even around the lousiest of bands and the lousiest of musicians--and musicians meet a lot of women out looking for excitement and the music I used to perform was highly sexual--the blues, r and b, jazz--highly sexual in its intent--to get a woman's hips to shakin', as a guy I used to play with always said, "Once you see a chick's hips shaking back and forth you know you're playin' your best--once you get 'em to dancin' then your playing gets more excited, sexually excited, brother, sexually excited." After I got divorced from my second wife--yes, the one I was writing about a couple'a posts back--I went hog wild with lusting--and I was utterly successful in my conquests--mostly with married or newly divorced women--and I had cheated on my second wife while we were married with several of her very best women friends--especially in New Orleans, and both of her friends there were happily married, too. OK, OK, my point is, I'm as rotten as these goofy governors and politicians, though I don't think it's rotten, because I think sex is seed-planting, cultivating; sex is salvation; sex is eternal life; sex is God; sex is the reason we have to die! (The great Philip Wylie as all should know brought this point to my attention in his little bible An Essay on Morals.)

As a writer, OK, another admission, everything I write is sexual--even this post--an attempt of a male to spread his peacock feathers wide open in spread-eagle regalia, a beckoning to women, my writings all aimed at women, women on women on women as I ramble down the halls of my memories and knowledges--and some of my best memories have to do with my relationships with women--why, everything a man does is to attract women! I don't know if that's really true about women, though I do believe everything women do, too, is sexually motivated--I mean I have to believe women are sexually motivated, otherwise my theory's shot to hell, though I can concede that since women are expected to SUBMIT to the sexual regaling of men, the willingness to submit would be the sexual motivation in women. The urgent message a hard dick sends to a man is, "Quick, I need to plough into some fresh soil; I need to shoot my seed deep as hell in a fertile furrow!"

So I'm saying everything in LIFE, including life itself, is sexually motivated. Impotency makes some men rapists and killers. Male soldiers in the hottest of combats get hards on--look at all the rape and murder and shit going on amongst the women and men soldiers hustled together to war in Iraq and Afghanistan? Look at all the wives returning Iraq soldiers have killed recently--3 down at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, this year alone--two of those women killed by their soldier husbands were pregnant! Just think of how many hardened killers will be coming home mentally deranged from Iraq one day? What if when they get a hard on they refer it in their deranged minds as having to kill or be killed--and that includes killing women and babies--and the war in Afghanistan, too, a war that is now sanctioned as righteous but which is the same as Iraq really since the Afghanistan people did not attack the USA, nor did the Taliban--their crime, they supposedly protected Bin Laden, the New World Order Devil--though supposedly today Pakistan is protecting Bin Laden (The Daily Growler pundits all agree that if Bin Laden was ever a real person he is surely dead by now) and only Obama has said he's going to take troops into Pakistan!

And then today, why the workingman's billionaire hero got caught by the National Enquirer screwing a chick and maybe even knocking her up and being the pappy of her little bastard while lyin' like a dog to the Amurican numbskulls about how faithful and loyal he was to his Mrs. Perfect wife who was also fighting the Big C--and not the Big Cock in Johnny Boy's pants--and Johnny Boy needed that cock slapped around a bit, and then kissed a lot and made well (hard), and then sucked a long time--and then, BANG! And Johnny Boy got to screwing a woman who looks like his wife except she ain't bloated from the chemo and shit and she still has her hair and narrow ass--and so why not bang her!--hey, come one, he says Mrs. Johnny Boy knew about his affair--it's like he's saying she approved it--we'll know when they get divorced. John got himself powerful and famous and rich and had all those camp-following babes lusting all around him seeming ready to submit to his power, his money, his privilege, his celebrity--and, hell, that means, Hot damn, bring on the hussies! So Johnny Boy, the new Kennedy, just ruined his chances at becoming Obama's right-hand cracker--oh, it won't hurt his income--don't worry, I'm sure he's already writing a tell-all book--as is his wife, too, probably--they always have a couple of books in them. Plus, Johnny Boy will still get his speaking engagements! Men understand Johnny Boy--anybody who thinks he's as hot a piece a shit as John Edwards began to think he was is certainly gonna get offered a lot of high-octane poon! What man can resist that?

From sex, I turn to Ezra Pound. A poem by Ezra that struck me hard this morning early when I was reading it.

The Lake Isle

O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop,
With the little bright boxes
--------piled up neatly upon the shelves
And the loose fragrant cavendish
--------and the shag,
And the bright Virginia
--------loose under the bright glass cases,
And a pair of scales not too greasy,
And the whores dropping in for a word or two in passing,
For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit.

O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,
Lend me a little tobacco-shop,
--------or install me in any profession
Save this damn'd profession of writing,
--------where one needs one's brains all the time.

[Ezra Pound, Selected Poems of Ezra Pound, New Directions, 1957, pp 38-39.]

Ez sez, you can't write great novels or poems with the head of your dick, men.

From the page before the above poem:


The gilded phaloi of the crocuses
-------are thrusting at the spring air.
Here is there naught of dead gods
But a procession of festival,
A procession, O Giulio Romano,
Fit for your spirit to dwell in.
Dione, your nights are upon us.

The dew is upon the leaf.
The night about us is restless.

Ezra Pound, Selected Poems, p 36.

Ah, it's nice to have nothing to hide during your restless nights.

for The Daily Growler

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