"Look at the birds of the air . . . consider the lilies of the field."---Math 6:26,28
Thank God it's Friday! It's been Japanese Wallet Therapy, truculence, lack of autonomy and monkey suit nightmares all week long. I take dinkleberry V.A. meds in the morning and shakledonker V.A. meds at night and my gelatinous bloodstream is not affected . . . it just chugs, sludges and clots.
This is a self-contained community here at the vets' dorm. Everything I need except women is somewhere in the building. I'm signed up with the inhouse Red Cross to donate a pint of my gelatinous blood Tuesday. I don't know. Maybe they can use the pint as oil treatment for the bloodmobile.
Friday night is Wander Around The Quad night. In the mess hall, "X Men 2" is playing with Chinese subtitles in the east corner. A clutch of lonely veterans are sitting at the dining tables watching it, trying to ignore the gospel singing and off-key piano playing going on in the west corner of the mess hall.
I gravitate towards the gospel singing. The donated piano needs a serious tuneup, but the veteran standing next to it is wailing, man, WAILING. "Use me Lord, oh uuuUUUUUUse me."
Somehow this reminds me of old, wooden, paint-chipped A-frame churches balanced on cedarpost foundations. The soulful singing over an off-key piano reminds me of my childhood in Marshall, of humid nights in the back seat of my 66 Pontiac Tempest with some hot blooded high school girl I had driven to a secluded spot in the woods off Old Stagecoach Road after church.
Gospel singing and sex. Those are intertwined experiences for me. In the back seat of my 66 Pontiac Tempest on those hot, sticky nights in Marshall, I tried to give my soul to those girls. "Use me, baybe, uuuuUUUUssse me."
Maybe that's why my blood is boiling. I need to spawn. My gelatinous blood is calling me back to voodooland, the marshes of Marshall. Say it ain't so, Lord. Say it ain't so.
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