Blissed Connection

12 06 2008

Ever have one of those moments on the subway—after what turned out to be a bitch of a girlfriend dumped you for some seagull that never stops bragging about his trash pile on Coney Island—where you look up from the soggy lip of the crumpled brown bag concealing your bottle of triple sec  and see the most beautiful, supple-necked goose you’ve ever seen, with sparkling obsidian eyes and chest plumage so triumphantly gray that it promises the thunderstorms of the next thousand years, and for some unfathomable reason she is staring not at the lime-flavored drool escaping your beak, not at the bald patch in your left wing that can’t be combed over anymore these days, not at where your ballooning gut touches your cracked foot-webbing, but looks into your very soul for a full soft radiant world of time before the train stops at West 4th street and she hops off, leaving you forever with that untarnished aura of love and longing that melts into the vague memory of what it means to be happy?

“Well fuck that,” I said.  “I’m putting a Missed Connection ad on Craigslist.”

So far this guy is the only response I’ve gotten.

Just to be clear, the soulmate I was reaching out to is not

A) Human

B) A Mexican Wrestler

 

I might have more luck staying on the C train for the next six months.

—Nero

 

 

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Heatwave

10 06 2008

So…sluggish…heat killing off brain cells ten at a time…losing subtleties of thought…same high temperature today in New York City as Middle East…the terrorists win…saw leaf wilt and fall off tree…vanished in puff of smoke when it touched asphalt…can’t even make it to bank…to cash economic stimulus check…was gonna get an XBox…terrorists win…feathers sticking to keyboard…becoming more racist for some reason…sudden horrible empathy with the south…unfounded suspicion of Barack Obama…

New York City (courtesy of NASA)

…stream of consciousness dwindling to a trickle…capacity for figurative thought shutting down like an aardvark stalks sex predators…I mean, like coma fruit takes a ride on…nevermind…terrorists win…choking on humidity…oxygen depleted…sudden urge to buy lotto tickets…just a lil bit of luck…need to bash my head on something to pass out…don’t have the strength to injure myself…God please blow up the sun…foot melting onto dirt…total swamp-ass right now…thirsty….hot…is someone gonna crack this fire hydrant or what…yes!…fuck they’re just using it to put out an apartment fire…go Mets…but terrorists win.

—Nero

 





Sping Asleepening

29 04 2008

It’s with some embarrassment that I admit Caligula’s Central Park Festival of the Vernal Equinox 2K8 was an unmitigated disaster. Aside from being several days late (scheduling problems forced a weekend date), no one showed up. And well they did not to. My caterers had brought barely enough hobo blood for a party of four, and some sort of impromptu volleyball game had annexed the sand pit I had hoped to use for a three-legged race. I sent the wait staff home with all the leftovers and hopped my segway, heading away from the dismal sight: it was Uncle Gaius’ Liquorless Saturnalia all over again!

I remain infuriatingly helpless when it comes to the movement of Earth: