Mouth Full of Cavities

Love is a Sham! The Unpublished Prequel....

This was written on my plane to Charlotte... after a glass of chilled merlot (weird), a $6.50 Stella and a pretty decent margarita....

Feb. 1 2006

This morning, in my recalcitrant efforts to remain safe and supine in the down-filled nesting of my love-smeared bed, I dreamed of George W. Bush. Perhaps, his simian mug and dumbed-down duplicity tactics were fresh on the brain in reaction to his pallid State of the Union dance. Go, monkey, go. I dont know, really. It was a very bizarre mental movie. In my dream, his backyard backed up to my back yard. My friends and I would make it a daily event to sit and watch what the President would do in his downtime. On this specific afternoon, he sipped cocktails with the First Lady and accidentally staple-gunned an important brief to the top of his thigh. And we laughed. Laura seemed unmoved by the staple-puncture. And they continued on as if all was norm. Another day at 1600 Penn Ave., another cocktail down the hatch, another day of horswaggled supremacy. What a sham.

Or, maybe, his disturbingly dope-ish and quirky role in my lucid narrative was meant to serve as a lingering belly-blow of a reminder: we are all at risk of being hornswaggled, flimflammed, and bamboozled.

Shimshamming and hustling were the common themes of last nights front porch menageries. And we laughed. At our plights, burns and heartaches. Laughter potent with opiate qualities and weighted with forlorn. So it goes. We cheers-ed our German Beir and bid farewell to the Eastside habitat that I had hesitantly called home for two years. Good riddance.

Shams. Shimshams. Ruses. Everyday atrocities of the heart. Well, and pocketbooks and integrity and pride and trust...

I once saw this truly amazing tiny-little stick-figure animation entitled Love is a Sham. As dreadful a title as it is, was, the beauty of the short film was that even with that said, even with the brutal reality that love is, at times, a mere ephemeral notion of the emotions, made up of wisps of cerebral protoplasm, idealized fantasies, armors of denial and constant eruptions of sensationalized romanticism, its still the most invigorating, promising, potent of all human experiences. So, sham or no sham, Ill keep pinning my heart to the pocket of my blue jeans and continue on this, my subterranean heartbreak crusade..