Hitched into town. Nice folks. Picked me up before. I guess. Part of my fan club.
Crossing the street guy shouts out that I’m going to get killed wearing that Ravens cap.
Turned around. Thought of an F-U reply. But discretion is the better part of valor. Of course if he called me a pussy the challenge would meet swift response. His next mistake would’ve been getting out of his car.
I’m closer to the end than the beginning now anyway you wanna look at it, so I‘m not about to chicken out of anything anymore. Would’ve liked some offspring I definitely knew about but if I’m the last of my line so be it. No point getting all broken up & trying to change horses in midstream, as it were. Things might yet work—or not work—out the way I had once believed/predicted. No Hot War III with the Soviets (who are no longer around). I’ve mourned those bastards enough. They dug their own grave. Was the failed experiment worth all the pain death & misery? Imagining my life under the Stalinist regime would be an exercise in what? Absurdity? But I’m to go with the instincts. Might come out right one of these days. Feelings trump rational thought? Interesting question…
Bought the Ravens cap at the Happy Dragon some time ago, well before this year's NFL season. But now I just might root for Baltimore, although I’m usually a hometown fan.
Cougar (Terri—guitar player Kevin’s latest squeeze; all the best to both of them) looking mighty fetching in her striped sleeveless top with plenty of cleavage. That Kev is one helluva lucky man. Pays to take up a stringed instrument. Lute anyone…?
She holds the door for me as I come upon the Bear. Big smile. I’d tell Kevin not to worry I won’t abduct her. (But one never knows. Love & war, etc. etc. )
Working up to my first “serious” attempt at “the bitch goddess” oka The Great American Novel. Wasn’t exactly suffering from full-blown writers’ block all these years but not producing the amount of work I thought myself capable.
* Writersnotes: Plans for short novel: “The Last of the Flying Warshawskys” (tentatively retitled: “Last of the Flying Schworovskiis”) about my father’s WW2 experiences. Sharp to the point. Themes: anti-Semitism, racism, violence, good deeds going punished, war, war, war, life, death, etc.
This current article you are reading (if you've come this far) sort of picks up the ongoing story of Ms. T. Cougar & K. Guitar Boy begun in Part the First of the poem Two Lovers.
Here at the Great Bear on a day too beautiful sunny to spend much of it indoors. Unless you’ve a good reason or reasons plural. I have that: Legs legs legs legs legs…! And breasts too of course. But its those legs that turn me to mush. Utter mush. And of course the faces. Pretty sexy. Pouty. And the scent of them. All of them. The firm tanned thighs. The young women (goddesses) shaking their hair. Soft laughter. What were they up to just a few hours ago? They are superior creatures with superior asses. Not a care in the world. All needs satisfied. Knowing smiles. Women rule. (They own me. I don’t mind. I love the idea & the reality.) They just work really hard at making the men think they don’t rule the world. But of course they do. Indeed they do...
Queen Bee Woman (utterly outstanding—makes one come immediately to attention if you catch my drift…) sitting with friend both with proto-fascistic pony-tails golfing jogging caps short shorts tanned legs too much beauty too much money no wedding rings meaning nothing either way.
And now Cougar T. who’d disappeared for awhile sits back down next to me. She has a cough. TB? Not 2 bellies. This gal has always been in shape. And in fact the older she gets the better she looks. I promise myself not to abduct her. Bad form, being friendly with her current “boy”. (But now perhaps she needs a man…And here’s another instance of she becoming inhabited by ethereal creative powers, becoming a She. )
Okay now good. Cougar T. puts her black jacket back on. Has to keep up her strength. Watch that old immune system. I offer her (Her? Is she a Her yet?) an Altoids peppermint.
“Will this help your cough?”
God what a smile. I’ve been acquainted with her/Her for a few years but this afternoon she is really shining. Happy. More than just content. Kevin will be a hard act to follow. Love these shiksas…Cortnee who…?
Kevin has a short break. Off to the pissoir…? Gives me a look. But not angry dirty jealous. (Probably fantasizing of going to work on my head with a meat cleaver…) He’s like me. One of us. A fine musician. Insouciant. Nouvelle vague in spirit. Maybe I should ask the very very fine Ms.T. Cougar if she has a working twin. Working in the sense that all the female parts do…Good question but not yet. Don’t wanna come across as rude &/or crude, some pushy New York Jew with an attitude trying to jump his assigned gene pool. My well known about town wit can wait. Suddenly I feel sick. Haven’t eaten since last night. Just coffee, water, some OJ much earlier.
T. Cougar gets up. Goes somewhere. I dunno…anywhere…to get a napkin. I watch her via peripheral vision. She returns. Kevin still behind the bar. Doing one helluva job. As Queen Bee Woman gets up finally to leave I watch her, T. Cougar watches me, Kevin watches me & his beloved Cougar & the Eye in the Sky watches us all in our Dance With Love & Life.
* SexNote: Lust in the male arouses the female. (Or so the sexperts tell us…) Therefore, Lust is Love, as far as this cowboy is concerned. We all have a cosmic right to define Love God Death Art Beauty Wealth etc. any damn damned damnable way we goddamn please! So…
All this Darwinian Love in the Human Zoo (good name for a coffeehouse…)
How Old School am I?