Sunday, February 14, 2010

Did I ever mention that I am afraid of heights?…

posted by Bill Arnett @ 7:45 PM Permalink

…probably has something to do with trying to use the keyboard while under the influence of Valium at eight to sixteen times normal prescribed doses. (But at only half the speed of light; quite insistent that there wasn't any room for negotiating on that.)

Who-e-e-e-e-e! that, man, made an already heavy load into liftoff beyond the cosmos vewy, vwey difficult but somehow even better, although I had to come back twice 'cause i kept forgetting my helmet.The blastoff was great, I waved to Sailor in the crowd twice (I don't think he saw me)

Just once, ONCE, I wish I had the great honor of shaking hands with Bowie, but I think he's stuck way behind in a cosmic pothole or whatever they are called. and I'm not sure hollering into space in general would get the message to him.

Anywho I'm back now, just terrified of the great distance from my keyboard to my screen, Anyone with any 'space lag' tags or guidance? From the damaged clod to me to Sailor, whom I am certain that our genius can beat up your genius.

I slappeth thy metaphorical genius, with confidence, confidence I say!, leavening him weeping like a little girlyman into his metaphorically genius cravat, scurrilous hiding behind the flagstones to which they retreat, post haste, (Can metaphysical genius' scurry behind flagstones? C-l-e-v-e-r, those of the genius genre!)(And do they really wear silken cravats[is that a word?] and is it for appearing all geniuslsy or tantric sex?) Only the Shadow knows fer sure, and he's too busy training Obama to jump through hoops and things wishing he'd been a boxer, "And in this corner at an imposing 126 pounds, standing 8 feet, nine inches tall, perfectly willing to make it look close before taking a dive that would do any Olympian proud (the people of Olympia, the olympic teams just keep cracking up), Ladies and Gentlemen, pimps and hoes alike I give you PRESIDENT BARRACK OBAMA, who must knuckle under fast here so he can Knuckle under before his true masters, the REPUBLICAN PARTY! Several times today as a matter of fact! An his opponent, standing at a stately gnome height of 4 feet, six, muscling his weight in at 2 pounds, seven ounces, A CARDBOARD CUTOUT OF MITCH MCCONNELL! Truly a battle of titans! Crushing blows, blazing speed,and since OBAMA will collapse in the second round, after contemplating how to go down without appearing even more ineffectual than in the White House this will truly be a battle of titans, MITCH MCCONNELL, having mastered his hung-down droopy-dog, where did my dentures go?(You'll wonder were the yellow went 'til you dare try to speak to a congressman or senator with intelligence!)

Just like a friend, at da da ta da daa,dada, ta dah, dum de dum da da de dum to, (released in advance just in cace we lose and stand ready for the contempt just in case we loose. YO MAMA! STAND FAST MOTHER! DUDLEY DOORIGHT IS HERE! NEVER FEAR!

Natasha twirls her nustach while Boras peruses the new Victoria Secret Catalog. How, he muses, do the Americans expect to win with such skimpy outfits? Then he takes a really good look at the models and started to get ideas…'til Natasha knocked the hell out of him.

I gotta go lay down. BTW, I know this isn't Craig's List, 'cause of the title of ViiotSpeak, but if anyone knows an oral surgeon within the CA Bay Area who may be willing to do pro bono work or that can find it within them to help a 100% Vietnam disabled vet who just can't seem to get the help promised after they surgically severed my fifth cranial nerve. Oh, yeah, my necrotic jaw they didn't reveal for a long time, and then told me to try and hang onto my teeth, which would probably all fall out by the time I was fifty.(I was thinking of one of those stylistically keen teeth necklaces I used to see as a kid watching Tarzan and Jungle Jim. Both starring Johnny Weismueller who held like 58 world records in swimming) I just don't thunk, or think either, I can summon sufficient panache to pull it off. I have managed to hang on to 15 or 16 of them, but I know I will gag to death when they put in those old those 55 Buick bumper false teeth, It will finish me as, as I know now that day will mark the day I begin dying, and I won't be able to fight it. But don't cry for me Argentina, I ain't ever even been there, that I know of. (Wait, some gal called Evita, looking a lot like Lady Madonna, walkin' down those streets, are you ever gonna find some fast food eats? Seem oddly familiar. And I'm intimately familiar with…what was the subject? Oh, yeah, odd families. And they said I'd lost all marbles. Well, I fooled them. I swallowed some, that are beginning to pass.)(But don't tell anyone, please.

And it's true if you exceed the speed of light you really can shake hands with yourself. It's sill pretty hard because you have infinitely long hands, but with some practice you'll figure it out

Any takers? Any hope? Ye-haa kid let's blow the hell outa this thing and go? Is there a Secret Society of Agent Orange Vets that can spare me even more pain? I'm pretty adept at learning new and different ways to shake hands! If not pro bono I'd be willing to work out any payment plan I can afford and set it through my bank to pay forever. And I live in permanent, intractable pain that often make me cry myself to sleep from the endless pain, or wake up with tears in my eyes at the prospect of facing yet another day of endless, unrelenting, make-me-want-to-scream-at-the- ever continuing- of- stories of high adventure but lousy story days because they all have the same beginning, middle, and end of nothing but pain, pain, pain, oh-h-h pain.

Did I mention I'm afraid of heights?

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At 12:13 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Say Bill;

Once upon a time in my (much younger) life, I felt kinda' like how you're composing right now.

I had just turned seventeen while doing my senior year of high school at a dependent school in Germany. I was in an army tent that some grunts had erected out at the "Sand Pits," a swimming-hole type place right outside of Frankfurt and only a couple of miles from Rein Mein Air Base.

One of the infantry-types had just finished scraping out his bowl of all the severely packed, partially burned, opium-laced hash cake and oils that will accumulate inside the tools of a heavy user.

Now, I was no neophyte with hash. Indeed, over the last 10 months or so (ever since I transferred to Germany from the cow pastures of Shreveport Louisiana), I had smoked some pretty good herb-residue with the best that my schoolmates could muster (funny thing with Germany during that era fully pregnant with the "Cold War," a "smoker" could not get "weed" there. However, decent hash was about four dollars a gram).

Anyway, This Army stoner mixed his scraping with a bit of tobacco in order to losen it up, reloaded it in the bowl, and we were locked and ready to roll. I took about five giant hits off this super-concentration of mother nature.

fifteen minutes later, I was grasping the floor of the tent with my head spinning at a little less than light speed, trying my absolute goddamdest not to fly off the surface of the planet.

This ride lasted me 'till about the middle of next morning.

While I understand that a lot of your extra-sensory imprisonment is founded in pain, I do understand at -- least a bit -- the disorientation of it all.

During such times, it is hard staying sane.


At 5:14 PM, Blogger Bill Arnett said...

I find we have more in common, DanD. '65-'68, Bitburg, Germany, lost me virginity just before going, figured that didn't count, started all over again. Hiked from Bitburg through the entire country of Luxembourg (about the size of an old 600 model Mercedes-Benz) (was gonna be Diamler-Benz until the Shah of Turkey insisted that if they wanted to import their cars to his country they must be named after his princess daughter Mercedes; I never met her) and in Lionne, before reaching the Patton War Memorial in Bastogne and witnessed the thousands and thousands of graves of those who really died for our freedom, we had a ball with a whole bunch of Belgium girls in the basement, dungeon really, not realizing how fast we would sober up at the site.

Are you the brother I never had? You in Pasadena, me Concord, the P.I., Germany, It's a small world friend, 'til you live for ten day on enough drugs to drop a horse dead where it stands. Then the mind extends beyond any semblance of boundary and onto the ethereal plains of disreality. (I think I made that last word up, but it is a good word and bears repeating. Eve, from Sam Twain's tales of Adam and Eve)

Peace, and if you should find any pieces of my psyche, it's probably extraneous and unimportant anyway, but you may send it to my metaphysical address, if so inclined: Zirben 9, Ring Seven, Diametrically opposite to the third sun, Zap Code 12497583900298576432096885764.

Thank you. Very much.

At 5:28 PM, Blogger Bill Arnett said...

My apologies to those who do not know me, how…uh…uh…irregularly I think, and can't necessarily understand dying slowly (I would feel sorrow for you), a little more each day, and the disappointment of seeing and knowing the process is excelerating at dazzling speed and knowing there is very small hope of even slowing my descent to the day I am set afire and my spirit set free to await my mate's, my Warrior Woman's soul to find me as I know i will find her and we shall tour the universe entwined, enthralled, forever madly in love. Such is as it should be, for what else is love eternal for?

Ciao, Bill


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