Sunday Scribbling #141: E=Most of the Time
I knew instantly that time was irretrievable and that the underwear she was wearing was not the Spandex DeLorean wingtips I had dreamed. I knew that life was crashing around her, even as the permeable Venta-hood—my life—was more than ample inspiration for the next two Rocky movies, without Stallone, but still set in Philly, and still schlepping it up the steps of the Museum of Art. Life throws curves at you, but her curves were completely outside the realm of the bipartisan: Mussolini would have served tea himself to have even three minutes of post-Keynesian supply and demand with her, even as the panthers were thundering out of the south. You don’t walk by that kind of folderol: you can’t. If you do, if you even try to, the tiniest veggie-mite of fate will bite you in the ass. Even Albie up in his Princeton digs knew that, and he sweated out a few of his own, before the corduroys of smokeless passion lost their grip.Yes, I knew instantly, but did I want to?
Labels: Costco
posted by murat11 at 12:19 PM
25 Comments:
Spandex De..what? Nice one, now I can't get the image out of my head. That was really well written.
a packed paragragh of much diesection...but it twas the tag that threw me.
Oh the poor guy, he's doomed. Or at least he's going to have to make a few changes in his life, always hard to do, even without that pesky veggie-mite of fate. Here's hoping he has one or two good times along the way.
yes that tag threw me as well. Doomed, i must agree with Ms. Anno. Doomed in the best sense.
Lilly: She clearly shops at no place I've ever been.
jsd: I had three minutes, the kids were coming back from lunch, bell about to ring. What's a scribbler to do?
anno: He is, he won't, he can't, it did bite, and yes, he did: twice. He doesn't sweat the big stuff no mo.
Ms. Tammie: Nothing should throw you veteran readers by now, eh?
I agree, though: the boy should assuredly follow his doom.
I love the venta-hood comparison to your life. Great visuals! Never heard of the spandex thingy...good thing, it sounds uncomfortable!
Very eclectic, if you know what I mean!
I knew instantly
BJ: Never heard of the spandex thingy either, until it popped into my demented head.
GT: Eclectic R Us.
Lust, a powerful motivator, even without the Delorean Wingtips. I've read that Albie was lucky in lust but not in love. I don't know what mattered to him... except,to each his own.
present: I really know nothing about AE in lust or love: nor what mattered to him either. Lust as motivator? Keeping in mind your "each his own," I see desire as an enormous motivator; lust, I see as the green wash that pervades John Boorman's movie Excalibur: an electromagnetic undertow, resolute, commissioning, the stone that holds the sword in place. Desire will slide it into your grip.
"You don't walk by that kind of folderol: you can't." And you don't read a passage like this 'Most of the Time' one time only. You return and linger in the curves thrown, completely outside the realm of the bipartisan.
Paschal, this has that push-me-pull-you tension that I've come to feel is your trademark. If my keyboard would type one of those little circled Rs I would do that.
Where did you find that push-me-pull-you image? Nice.
It must be the influence of my Episcopalian Minister father's sermons that I translate lust into desire. He did not proselytize, yet I must have been tuning in with one ear while sitting in stained glass light thinking about some day being a lion-tamer.
Lust vs Desire. Both a wanting, a craving. Yes, one a "green wash" an "electromagnetic undertow". Well put.
Wow. A burst of lust. Yes, that poor guy.
corduroys of smokeless passion lost their grip - a fine phrase. Love this descriptive piece with a new meaning through each reading. Great!
Love this piece... have read it four times now, just full of gems.
I’ve been circumambulating this yellow and black Sabbath of a piece, trying to relax and let the Spirit dictate my right response to this call to worship words. So, on this fine third Sunday of Advent-a-hood, the irretrievable candle of time was lit with wingtips, the prayer for Rockyless peace was said, the artful offering of mussolinis was made, and the doxology of folderol was sung as a closing prayer to the fateful veggie-mite—may your bite be as lite as a Pabst Blue Ribbon to Billy Gibbons—and the people said, “Amen!” but I’d long since known the secret of the stone and the grip…just not how to work it :-)
missalister
Sister San: Always fun to linger in the curvishness of your lovely comments. Push me / pull you has gotta be mega-scorpionic and rock and roll all rolled together.
Image was about five pages back on a google image search, or somesuch. I just googled DeLorean: I weren't googlin' no panties, ma'am.
present: Just spent half a day at our Episcopal church's 40th anniversary celebration. Wonderfully festive.
I loved your first comment, but something in my hypnagogic state was rustling around wanting to be said, to dance with your words. Had I been a bit less mesmered, I doubt seriously that John Boorman would have made his entrance.
Patois: Don't shower too much pity on the guy: his ending question was purely rhetorical: of course he wanted to.
Tumblewords: Always fun to tumble words with you: thank you very much.
Laura Jayne: Welcome to the monkey house, and thank you.
Amen, Sister Alister: Glad you finally sat down with the liturgical bumblebee. I see that you're still engaging in unnecessary modesty when it comes to your buddy Excalibur. Of course, you are absolutely right when it comes to folderol: "A MIGHTY folderol is Our God," especially when She Stomps.
Hope St. Nicholas filled your shoes with all kinds of goodies this past December 6th.
Love to the sister: paschal.
Hi! Delicious bit of prose. This shows I've been away from Sun. Scribblings far too long! Well-done.
Welcome back to the Scribblers, GeL.
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