never ever get married

A dating service for married people. Really?  This feeds my argument that EVERYONE wants to be single. just sayin'.  Makes you wonder why gays want any part of this so-called institution.

Update: There is no youtube of Liz Phair's Love/Hate Transmission.  Here is an old post with the lyrics.  At any rate,  here is the Divorce song.

poem

If I were tickled by the rub of love

If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.

Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.

Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with green girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the loin
Nor the outspoken grave.
If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away nor crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the crabs and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies,
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.

This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.

And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his sex
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.
And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ, born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.

Dylan Thomas

The Pina Colada Song

The internet version, it really happened. The joys of marriage. Why do people barter sex(sometimes, I mean they are married) for endless misery and pain. Remember brothers and sisters, its a war. I'm just sayin'...Not that that I'm bitter;)

Courage (For Hugh Maclennan)

I am a huge T-hip fan and apropos of some recent decision making, I found this quote from them relevant.

"...So there's no simple explanation
For anything important any of us do
And yea the human tragedy
consists in the necessity
of living with the consequences
Under pressure, under pressure"

While searching for it I found a site by people who are clearly bigger fans of The Tragically Hip than I am. They explained that these lyrics were paraphrased from the Canadian author Hugh Maclennan's book, “The Watch That Ends The Night.”

“But that night as I drove back from Montreal, I at least discovered this: that there is no simple explanation for anything important any of us do, and that the human tragedy, or the human irony, consists in the necessity of living with the consequences of actions performed under the pressure of compulsions so obscure we do not and cannot understand them.” (274)

I suppose sometimes my "obscure compulsions" lead me to a sort state of inaction that make almost any decision making impossible. So, as always, I simply exist in stasis and allow the world or people to do what it does without my input.

The problem is that I do not have a particularly Zen attitude towards these consequences. In fact, I usually find myself defiant and self-destructive in regards to the results of my inaction. Which leads me to question the use of the existential(and correct) attitude conveyed in the above passages. The capriciousness and essential meaninglessness of life is unarguable, to my way of thinking, but leaves something to be desired, at times. Instead of evoking freedom, it leaves one feeling the desire for a rubric or morality bigger than yourself. I imagine this feeling is at the root of fundamentalism of all sorts. My problems with authority of almost any kind prohibit me from embracing any kind of absolutism or fundamentalism, hence my present quandary. For which, as usual, I find solace in music and again the Hip deliver in the song Springtime in Vienna.

"We live to survive our paradoxes
We'll live to survive our paradoxes"

walls, suckerpunches, and other things i walk into...

Just because you see something coming, should you get out of the way? Usually, I prefer to keep on walking. This meme seems to be repeated on an annual basis and I am apparently immune learning any lesson from experience. It is not, as you might expect, out of bullheadedness or stupidity but more of sense Prewitt-like fatalism. My feeling is one of a kind joy at new experience regardless of the outcome. There is also an element of saying fuck fear. I may not know what I am doing, but, ya know if your scared go to church.

Even the well intentioned and correct warnings of Bronx's Best Apostle(free wild turkey shot for whoever gets the reference, Otterbutt's man should get it) and Sandra D don't dissuade me from charging ahead. If not blindly, certainly with an excess amount of bravado and lack of caution. If it was just wasn't so fucking easy I might let it slide, but it seems a shame to waste an opportunity for adventure.

Maybe this is all just spin and I am simply lonely and tired of sleeping alone...? Doubt it though, Fuck it. Like the man said, "Shut up and die like an aviator!"