Posts Tagged ‘Jew’

Dear Mom and Dad-

Posted: December 11, 2015 in Letters
Tags: , , , ,

 

 

Photo by Alvin Trusty of Findlay, Ohio.

Photo by Alvin Trusty of Findlay, Ohio.

 

Dear Mom and Dad-                                                                                 12/11/2015                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Pat gave me the boot. I don’t fit her quasi-criminal plans. She’s living off her second husband’s pension, her recluse daughter’s disability check and her own green thumb as gardener growing pot indoors. She has sun-lamps, timers and techno-wizardry in her bedroom closet. She learned horticulture at a local nursery and she learned underground economy from her jailbird son. Or maybe she taught him. Or maybe it’s in the blood.

I miss her too much. It’s an embarrassment to pine for the life-long scamp. An ex-stripper on the small town circuit in the hills of Western Pennsylvania. Still cute as a button. We used to zig-zag through the streets of Philadelphia like Bonnie and Clyde on their honeymoon. Fun. Fun. Fun. Of course, she loved to quote her Jew-Guru in the far suburbs, dropping phrases like “non-ego”, “Jungian Oversoul” and “world as illusion”. She thought it gave her intellectual cachet. Reverting to the mean, she called the Catholic Church “The Whore of Babylon” while at Sunday brunch with myself and a pal. Bravo! More heart than brains! But a whole lot of heart, nonetheless. My Italian-gigolo-writer pal, a connoisseur of women and a freelance know-it-all, liked Pat quite a bit because she alternately flattered and insulted his intelligence. Even while fully dressed, she’s good at holding a man’s attention.

Too bad that she gave me the boot. I’m feeling blue. Dear old Carol, who’s had just as much difficulty in her life without seeking the devil’s help, has come to my rescue. She cooked Thanksgiving Dinner for myself and another lonely bachelor. A thoroughly demoralized truck driver who’s too nice for the dating game. He brought a handgun to dinner. He has no illusions about man’s beastly nature. Yet he sees woman as the embodiment of pure love and bores the seasoned whores he chooses to elevate. Of course, he courts in bars instead of church. The racier the woman, the more he sees her inner-homebody.

Carol is as nuts as everyone else but walks a straight line. She’s hysterical yet steeled like the toughest of men. A devout Italian Catholic, she thinks that Human Beings are Almighty God’s #1 mistake. As if Man is an embarrassing flaw in The Creator’sBeautiful Catholic Design that’s been patched-over by the myth of Original Sin. Still, Carol does God’s Work in true womanly measure. Like the US Marines step toward the gunfire, Carol steps towards the day’s insane pain. An angel of mercy even as she bitches about “fuckin’ niggers” and “assholes in government”. Raised in a small Italian enclave in the Black ghetto, Carol has learned to mother everyone except for those she’d like to stab in the throat. It is, I think, a lingering mafia sensibility

I have to find myself a wife before it’s too late. I’m a handsome old guy until I rise from a chair like an arthritic dinosaur. My market value is declining. But as a writer, I’m getting better and worse at once! More reckless. More poetic. More vicious and more tender as I channel Carol’s spirit into the ink. I’ve found my voice!

Your dear son in Philly-

J.J.

_____________________________________________________

Fire Crown copy

_____________________________________________________

_________________________________________________________________

Kitchen Sandwich

 

Dear Ms. Janelle-

Uh oh. I must’ve insulted your ladyship.

A woman’s estate is herself! That’s the cosmic truth that I tried to  tickle with my cockiness. The Diva. The Goddess. The Dominatrix. The Earth Mother and the commanding housewife. They are all variations of the same self-possessed being. And your own lofty aplomb is absolutely tantalizing.

Man comes from woman. An  inner-pocket of genesis, a self-sacrificing  host to a kickin’ parasite, and an irresistible fleshpot in the round. It’s  this inherent magnitude that makes even hard men feel impotent and defile females in porno-films. Meanwhile, their better adjusted brothers write poems about a woman’s unassailable mystique. I know. You deserve the latter.

Mea culpa, mea culpa. I’m open to direction.

Sincerely-
J. J.

p.s.

Here is Ferdinand  Céline’s take on Feminine Mystique.  As an opera singer, you might be interested in death-by-dancer. Ballet dancer.   Obviously Céline is a over-the-top when it comes to a woman’s leg.  He was also over-the-top when it came to Jewish tribalism.   In fact, the following passage is taken from one of his “anti-Semetic” screeds.  Bagatelles For A Massacre.  Funny, how I get pulled into Céline’s  work as if into a woman’s crotch, and become intoxicated by his salts, sugars and earthiness.  I experience  a blind-ecstacy. His  preternatural glut of Parisian pomposity  and barnyard flavor really excites me.   I know.  I know.  It’s nothing to be proud of.

In the leg of a dancer the whole world, its waves, and all of its rhythms, its irrationalities, its aspects are inscribed!… Not simply jotted-down!… The most nuanced poem in the world! …moving! Gutman! Everything! That ineffable poem, warm and delicate which is a dancer’s leg in balanced movement is in touch, Gutman my friend, with the soundings of the very greatest mystery, which is God. Which is God himself! Quite simply! That’s the gist of what I’ve been thinking! Beginning next week, Gutman, after the end of the term, I no longer want to work save for the dancers… Everything for dance! Nothing outside of dance! Life has laid hold of them, pure…has taken them away…given the least impetus, I would go off to lose myself amongst them…for the rest of my life… scintillating…undulating…Gutman! They are calling me!… I am no longer myself… I give in… I don’t want to be tossed away unto eternity!… but unto the source of everything…of all the waves… The reason for the world is there… nowhere else…

To die by dancer!… I am old, I am going to die soon… I want to crumble away, keel over, dissolve, evaporate, turn into a cloud…in arabesques…in the void…in the fountains of the mirage… I deserve to perish in the most beautiful way… I want her to whisper upon my heart… It will cease to beat… I promise you! See to it Gutman that I am close to the dancers!… I want to pass away well, as does everyone, you know…but not in a chamber pot…but by a wave…by a beautiful wave…the most dancing…the most touching...”

__________________________________________________________________________