Thursday, June 30, 2011

Of Judith and Kiri, Kiri, Kiri

Directly in front of me, behind the monitor and hanging on the wall, is Gustav Klimt's Judith I. It's a depiction of Judith, holding the head of Holofernes, and Hell knows from where the lovely, framed print came. Here it be:

The story of Judith comes from the Old Testament and, instead of ruining it I'll simply quote the Vatican web site. They seem to know a lot about Catholic canon:

The Old Testament narrates the episode of Judith who saved her city of Bethulia from the siege of Holofernes, general of the Assyrian king Nabucodonosor, by killing him after a banquet at which he had been made drink, beheading him and bringing his head to his fellow citizens (Judith ch. 10-13).

Judith, being beautiful as all get out, used Holofernes' lust for her against him and became Judith the Denogginizer when he passed out. It's a great story. Here, in my half-assed opinion, is a more compelling depiction of the scene, by Franz von Stuck:


What a wonderful expression is on her face, in both pieces.

There are many examples, in art, literature and life, which tell us that women are very dangerous, and will use your wang against you.

Have you seen, The Audition? Beautiful young woman attracts man to a horrific, mind-blowing death. Actually, many men. His interest in her, expressed in a simple phone call, clearly made her day. Some unfinished business lies in the background, as seen in this, "red band" trailer seen here.

And a lovely scene here. Mercifully cut before eye-balls get involved.

In my weak little mind, The Audition and the Story of Judith travel together.

That's all I got.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Held Close (Hey Hon?) with Mystery

How long --- how long can I live this night!

Look ...the clouds shine --- Darling, how did you do it?
The wind is so soft, the rain is beautiful --- what did you do to the wind, and the rain, and the clouds?

And to me? See, I am drunk, high...I am drunk on you as on a reefer!

We will cross here where the street is crowded that I may hold your hand.

We will ride the subways that we may sit touching, that there be no distance between us. Speak...that I may fill my ears with you. Stay near me...that I may fill my lungs with you.

Come home with me...that I may fill my arms with you.
Come where only I can see you, and we will reveal our bodies, and our lips will make our love burst open, like acorns planted in warm spring soil. Come home with me...

Lift your dress high, your thighs will light my room with moonlight and the hair in the pockets of them will recall to me the darkness fir and larches in the dark mountain passes.

If only I could fit my life's time into those hours --- that I might say:

Was with her from eight to twelve'oclock...and joyous years passed!

Friday, June 17, 2011

The "Ted Williams Raspberry" and a Hydrant









What a wonderful rainy day. The rain pleases me, as it provides a good excuse not to go outside. And if I do go outside, I just dig it. After about a week of rain I start to go stir crazy, but a few days is fine. The other night I had a dream where Nancy and her friend started a business together. They were buying whole tuna fish and cutting it down to fillets to be sent to Japan. Nancy produced a wad of money, and after some questioning her secret came out. I got really angry that she didn't tell me, and she said, "I don't have to tell you anything, you fucking asshole." Apology after apology flowed from my mouth, and finally she rolled her eyes and accepted. We made love passionately in the back of a truck containing dozens of tuna fish. We were really cold, so we left the truck and decided to make love in the back of a Chinese restaurant. Hot egg rolls and wrapped, stale fortune cookies flew off the table we were using. For laughs, we opened a fortune cookie. It read, "You're paying for those egg rolls, you dog-eyed prick." After that, I went to a black barber shop and got a haircut and shave via a straight edged razor. Even in my dream it was decidedly unpleasant.

What the hell is all that supposed to mean?

Damned if I know.

Despite the pouring rain, Annie had her walk this morning. My little umbrella provided little protection for the little dog, and she got soaked to the bone. As she contemplated a pee next to a fire hydrant (see photo above), the black and white fire hydrant caused an argument between Nancy and I, when she insisted that it should
be red. I disagreed. Later that night she tried to smother me with our cat, Impy. Image the horror! I'm alive only because Impy is a tiny kitty, and she couldn't cover my whole mouth. Life is like that. You never know when your spouse is going to try and kill you in some exotic fashion. I probably had it coming.

Through a downpour, we passed a stop sign with a Socialist Party bumper sticker stuck to it.

It has been there since 1995, when I stuck it there. It didn't have much of an impact on the election. Somehow, it has managed to survive all these years. Kudos to the union bumper sticker makers. Mary Cal Hollis and Eric Chester...those were the days. I guess.

As we made out way back to my flat, we passed a beautiful rose bush and I had to stifle the urge to pick one (pictured above). Flowers are generally out as a gift for Nancy, what with her allergies. One of her favorite activities is breathing, and I wouldn't want to stifle that. She would probably chastise me for stealing a rose, anyway. The other day we found a wallet with at least $50 in it, along with a driver's license and various and sundry other items. My inclination was to take the money and put the wallet in a mail box. Nancy would have none of it, though. She snatched it out of my hand and took it into the nearby Stop and Shop and gave it to the manager. A very nice thing for Nancy to do, and I'm sure the wallet is back with it's rightful owner. Sigh. I'm not a bad man, I don't think, but poverty has (apparently) turned me into a bit of a douche-bag.

As we made our way back to The House of Four Cats, I took note of our little victory garden. Michelle Obama told us to plant a garden, so that's what we did. The raspberry to the right is an actual, honest to goodness specimen taken from our new raspberry bush! It now sits in the freezer, to save it as the first of many. Why? It's unclear to me. Isn't it beautiful, though? It's all red and bumpy and juicy and sexy. Looking at is has given me an erection. That's not right.

Finally, below is the Four Cats garden, complete with chives, a pepper plant, six tomato plants, basil and Italian parsley. There is just enough room for a marijuana plant in the back there.


Thus completes the rainy walk. Adieu.




Thursday, June 16, 2011

Of Romance and Germ Cell Neoplasia

Seven or eight years ago I was diagnosed with Intratubular Germ Cell Neoplasia of the Testes (IGCNT), which simply means that, without surgical intervention, testicular cancer would have developed. An orchiectomy was performed, which is the removal of the testes. Fortunately, this wasn't particularly traumatic for me, as my testes never worked. I'd known since age 14 that I was destined to shoot blanks. And a good thing, too. The very last thing I need is children. Cats and dogs are better, anyway.

In addition to infertility, there is no testosterone in my body unless I put it there, via a shot or a transdermal patch. The shot is great at increasing T levels rapidly, but the drawback is a wild fluctuation in levels from one hour to the next. My T level could be low normal one minute (around 400), and then skyrocket up too high (1200). Libido goes through the roof, erections arrive randomly and with great frequency, and I keep giving Nancy my seductive look. Sex is on my mind quite a lot with the shot, perhaps that is normal.

The patch is good for maintaining an even level. There is no "spiking" of the testosterone in my system, which is good for a fellow with bipolar disorder. The down side (literally) is Erectile Dysfunction (ED) and an inability to achieve orgasm (anorgasmia). Apparently, the patch is not working well. My energy level is low, and I've no libido.

This is very sad to me because, all joking aside, sex is a beautiful thing; intimacy, attraction (warts and all), declarations of love, and the creation of what Kurt Vonnegut used to call,"The Little Nation of Two." I'm sentimental and an Romantic. Some poems make me cry (The Psalm of Life by Longfellow), as does music (Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto). When I was the Socialist Party delegate to the National Convention (1990, 1992, 1994) we sang The Internationale. By the time we were finished, tears were rolling down my face.

I'm pathetic.

That said, making love with someone you love is the closest human beings get to not being alone.

So now I have an appointment with a urologist, for an embarrassing conversation about my penis. This is a new phenomenon, so it could be some other drug I take, perhaps something I take for epilepsy. I'm lined up to spend the night in the hospital so my seizure activity can be observed while I sleep. Nancy says I have seizures quite a lot in my sleep. Mostly small ones. Although one was a grand mal, methinks, given how I felt when I woke up. A bed is a good place to have a seizure.

Having a seizure during sex may be marvelous for the woman. "Come see the human vibrator!"

Onward!