my story.....
Talking to my dad today, i want to make a narrative of his life.
This is the first one:
Stan, 26 years old or so, gets an idea, he's going to buy porter, it's a small mounten in central maine with a real back-woodsy kinda feel. He's high, he's high alot, but right now he's hi,and he's thinkin. He's thinkink, i'm gonna buy this mountain, and i'm gonna sit down on this here stone, my stone, and i'm gonna find god. Those are his thaought, and his stone is under his plum tree, which is really not his, but it's there and it has veluptuious plums, the most veluptuious even, and they're his cause he gives them to people in town that he does business with, 12 each, in an egg carten, so they're his. And he's sitting on his stone, and he's bighting into his plum, and he thinks to himself, I've got a paunch. Which leads too, i don't need this plum, this plums just gonna add to my paunch, and who needs a paunch? Well the truth be known, a plums not gonna do much to you'r paunch, unless you're one of those atkinists, which must of been, casue they're the only one's worried about getting fat from fruit. And this whole time his singing the theme to gold finger, it's what's really been going on in his mind, and he swallows his bight of plum and thinks what am i gonna do with this here half eaten plum, and it hits him, he'll just pitch it ack under the tree and the yellow jackets will get it and all is fgorgiven, and he can go home to the comfort of his tummy furnice crackling away as it burns off his paunch. Well not so fast, just as the plum leaves the grasp of his fingers, the lyrics leave the grasp of his tong, "Cos it's the kiss of death from Mister Goldfinger... and at that moment, an epiphany. The tree, the tree of life, the lovely plum tree with the veloptuous fruit, has been smote. I"VE KILLED THE FUCKING TREE! IS THERE NO GOD? And sure enough the tree died, that very next spring it dripped and oozed sap from every angle, and died. all but one little shoot near the very top, but stan knew better then try and save it and soon that was dead too. Stan could no longer touch babies, his sins were to great, and his unholyness would surely kill them. like car oil in an aquarium, will surely end all life within, and this dreadful fate cast it's horrid shadow over my father for the next two years.
Did you ever think that maybe Alzheimer's is the goal. the goal for people that always want to be ahead of other people. the people like my dad who enjoy their, shall we say "personalized" sense of reality. that maybe the enlightenment they're looking for is the absence of all things that make any sense at all to anybody but themselves. MAybe it's not such a negative thing after all, maybe under it all, there is a logic, the smell of a long lost and misunderstood romance, romance of one's perception of life...?
True story.
This is the first one:
Stan, 26 years old or so, gets an idea, he's going to buy porter, it's a small mounten in central maine with a real back-woodsy kinda feel. He's high, he's high alot, but right now he's hi,and he's thinkin. He's thinkink, i'm gonna buy this mountain, and i'm gonna sit down on this here stone, my stone, and i'm gonna find god. Those are his thaought, and his stone is under his plum tree, which is really not his, but it's there and it has veluptuious plums, the most veluptuious even, and they're his cause he gives them to people in town that he does business with, 12 each, in an egg carten, so they're his. And he's sitting on his stone, and he's bighting into his plum, and he thinks to himself, I've got a paunch. Which leads too, i don't need this plum, this plums just gonna add to my paunch, and who needs a paunch? Well the truth be known, a plums not gonna do much to you'r paunch, unless you're one of those atkinists, which must of been, casue they're the only one's worried about getting fat from fruit. And this whole time his singing the theme to gold finger, it's what's really been going on in his mind, and he swallows his bight of plum and thinks what am i gonna do with this here half eaten plum, and it hits him, he'll just pitch it ack under the tree and the yellow jackets will get it and all is fgorgiven, and he can go home to the comfort of his tummy furnice crackling away as it burns off his paunch. Well not so fast, just as the plum leaves the grasp of his fingers, the lyrics leave the grasp of his tong, "Cos it's the kiss of death from Mister Goldfinger... and at that moment, an epiphany. The tree, the tree of life, the lovely plum tree with the veloptuous fruit, has been smote. I"VE KILLED THE FUCKING TREE! IS THERE NO GOD? And sure enough the tree died, that very next spring it dripped and oozed sap from every angle, and died. all but one little shoot near the very top, but stan knew better then try and save it and soon that was dead too. Stan could no longer touch babies, his sins were to great, and his unholyness would surely kill them. like car oil in an aquarium, will surely end all life within, and this dreadful fate cast it's horrid shadow over my father for the next two years.
Did you ever think that maybe Alzheimer's is the goal. the goal for people that always want to be ahead of other people. the people like my dad who enjoy their, shall we say "personalized" sense of reality. that maybe the enlightenment they're looking for is the absence of all things that make any sense at all to anybody but themselves. MAybe it's not such a negative thing after all, maybe under it all, there is a logic, the smell of a long lost and misunderstood romance, romance of one's perception of life...?
True story.