at last, spring



Sun 4.22.18


      I have bought some prizehead curly lettuce plants for which I have no garden to plant them in, thus asserting my spring fever creds.  All snows in my realm have disappeared, at last.  I have been watching them daily to witness their slow diminution. The hardware store clerk, where I go to find wood stain for my outdoor furniture, an old man with a four pointed cane makes the move on me, tells me he is 63, doesn’t look a day over 86, but he’s still hot and likes the women, shakes my hand, pats me on the shoulder, yes, we laugh conspiratorially, the sap is running.  We’re in business!

      Older guys get this conversation between men and women that the world reduces to sexual liaisons.  It is like describing a bike by focusing on the reflectors.  Sex is important for sure, especially its procreative aspect.  That you are able to create another human being is momentous.  The other gender grounds us, brings us to the reality of our life, on planet earth, as human being.  That intercourse (and birthing) occurs in parts of our bodies we use to defecate, to urinate causes us to slough off any squeamishness we might have had of nature’s dynamism.  We gladly surrender to our ferine creature self and place aside society’s control over our every thought and action.

      Lust has been known to happen in dark alleys between strangers, in the park, on elevators in high-rise buildings, public toilets, wherever the urge grabs people.  Erica Jong wrote a whole book, Fear of Flying, about that delightful experience, which she named the Zipless Fuck.  The zipless fuck, she states, “is absolutely pure. It is free of ulterior motives.  There is no power game. The man is not taking and the woman is not giving.”

      I wouldn’t go that far.  There is power play going on between partners whatever else happens.  The truth is, that’s what makes it exciting.  Even the most romantically addled individual realizes that she is mating with a bigger and stronger person, and he is never fool enough to underestimate his partner.

      The Louis Malle film, Damage, with Jeremy Irons, and Juliette Binoche playing the sexiest woman in film history shines a sinister light on the subject.  The sex scenes absolutely sizzle, and you just hope that very experience awaits you on the road ahead at some point.  Of course, (spoiler) it ends badly.  Isn’t that always the case when you’re having a good time?  The moral?  You can’t go around fucking like rabbits . . . because there are consequences.  You can always carry a good thing too far.

Then again it’s as William Blake stated, “The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.”  Jump right in folks, the water’s fine!