Monday, April 30, 2012

SUNDAY BREAKFAST (A day delayed)

When did I last drink champagne naked? How long ago was it that I took no account of once and future toxicity and was so bacchanal Bolinger blatant as to engage with the reckless dance wanton for the waste of the wasted and exposed to the exposure, under the eyes of the underworld and the morlock malice of exuberant two piece depravity? When, I wonder, did the foam last flow so sparkling and in unashamed streams of brief and transient undressed diamante on all the tides of conspicuous consumption among the nouveau mansions of gunmen and the implausible breasts of their gilded girls, their conspiring coke whores, and commissioned concubines? Do I even remember? How long, Lord, just tell me how long it has been since the words on the screen brought encouragement when comprehensible and the news from the battlefront served as more than just another revolver in the hand of a drunken cowboy too long at a feast to which he was never invited? Must we forever tread warily when the rash move would to throw clothes and caution to the four winds and more, in a fierce and feral quest for a deeper and less constrained satisfaction, when a coursing and unconstrained exuberance would be infinitely more pleasurable that a dreary care for what may follow? Although follow it must. Of that I am more than aware and – to a degree – able in truth to answer many of my own questions. The craving is to unlearn the lesson, and if I should fall upon my sword in the process I can only pray that it will be sufficiently sharp to kill with no pain.

Click here for The Trip (again the whole damn movie)        

The secret word is Indulgence

Bert Weedon – RIP 

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