Uke Man Rants Saturday - "Circus of Cool" @ Dick's Den
Hey Folks,
Saturday I'll be at Dick’s Den* (2417 N. High) for "Circus of Cool," the hip, beat, jazz/poetry happening conceived by the late Don “the Pope” Pavelcik and carried on by the lovely Krista Williams!
I’ve got a brand new rant for this latest “Circus of Cool,” called:“Intelligent Design My Ass.” Below is another blast from the past !
See you at the Den Saturday!(and/or at Monkeys Retreat between 6:00 and 9:00 the same day for the Via Colori photo exhibition)
*Dick’s Den - Sat., Dec. 17 – “Circus of Cool” - 10:00 - ??????? - 2417 N. High St. -(614) 268-9573
Monkeys Retreat – Sat,. Dec 17 – “Via Colori” Celebration – 6:00-9:00 – 1202 N. High St. - (614) 294-9511
* * * *
Giants and Worms Among Men
The Giants are great and slovenly and walk upon us, but they are the Giants, and it doesn’t matter to them that they squash us. At most, our bones provide but small shock to the callused gravity of their feet.
It is nothing to them. They are the Giants, oblivious, and even if (somehow) they could be shaken into consciousness, the Worms that whisper in their ears would eat their nascent thoughts and pass them on as wormy excrement .
We adapt, do the best we can, curse the Giants, curse the Worms, curse one another, curse our own “worms” for cursing us for our cursing. But nothing changes. We are the victims of the Giants and the Worms, and have been - ever since the first words of man were scratched on rocks. There was a time, some say, before the Giants and the Worms . . . when we were free.
I would like to be free . . . I think. But it is difficult to imagine life without our masters. And, it is possible that things were not so good even before the Giants.
Whatever it was like, we are not supposed to speak of it or even think of it.
Still, many of us do, and that is why our own little, self-important man-worms rail at us, demanding that the ancient laws be followed - to appease the gods, to keep us safe, to maintain what they call our prosperity.
They preach new laws too, derived (they say) from the old laws, but it is a strange prosperity that we enjoy under all these Holy laws.
It is said that we - here - who “respect the law and honor our betters” - are particularly fortunate and are less frequently trod upon by the Great Ones (men in other lands, we know for a certainty, are eaten by their Giants).
Old Marbo claims that she has seen our Giants eating people too, but it is possible they were only evildoers brought here from another land.
I do not know.
* * *
“Work saves us,” says Da’miller, our man-worm overseer. If that is true, then why do I not know it? I have known enough of work to have been saved long ago.
“ Work is salvation.” What Wormshit!!
* * *
There is something wrong with these men, these worms who would be Worms. They can never be Worms; they can only be pale, slimy imitations of the great, ugly beasts who whisper in the Giants’ ears. Yet they slobber and bow in the presence of an actual Worm, transported by the orgasmic desire to kiss and lick its body, to eat its excrement, digest it, and produce it anew for us to wallow in as if it were their own.
Oh yes, we men wallow in it, to be sure. Many of us even take pride in it, and those who don’t are guaranteed to feel the wrath of those who do. These would-be Worms stand there, dripping shit and marketing their odor as an aphrodisiac, denigrating all who are not stained with subservience.
Oh supreme irony! They - basking in their Holiness - are the supreme sinners of mankind, the craven cowards who are not content with ending their human lives, but must end ours as well. Worms within worms within worms within worms - eating their putrid selves and demanding that we praise them for it - demanding that we emulate their ecstatic living death and so assuage the terrible guilt they feel but cannot face.
So be it. Let them eat themselves. Let them eat their masters’ shit and smear it upon themselves as a badge of honor. Let them parade before us smirking with pride in their utter degradation.
. . . but I will not be moved..
Saturday I'll be at Dick’s Den* (2417 N. High) for "Circus of Cool," the hip, beat, jazz/poetry happening conceived by the late Don “the Pope” Pavelcik and carried on by the lovely Krista Williams!
I’ve got a brand new rant for this latest “Circus of Cool,” called:“Intelligent Design My Ass.” Below is another blast from the past !
See you at the Den Saturday!(and/or at Monkeys Retreat between 6:00 and 9:00 the same day for the Via Colori photo exhibition)
*Dick’s Den - Sat., Dec. 17 – “Circus of Cool” - 10:00 - ??????? - 2417 N. High St. -(614) 268-9573
Monkeys Retreat – Sat,. Dec 17 – “Via Colori” Celebration – 6:00-9:00 – 1202 N. High St. - (614) 294-9511
* * * *
Giants and Worms Among Men
The Giants are great and slovenly and walk upon us, but they are the Giants, and it doesn’t matter to them that they squash us. At most, our bones provide but small shock to the callused gravity of their feet.
It is nothing to them. They are the Giants, oblivious, and even if (somehow) they could be shaken into consciousness, the Worms that whisper in their ears would eat their nascent thoughts and pass them on as wormy excrement .
We adapt, do the best we can, curse the Giants, curse the Worms, curse one another, curse our own “worms” for cursing us for our cursing. But nothing changes. We are the victims of the Giants and the Worms, and have been - ever since the first words of man were scratched on rocks. There was a time, some say, before the Giants and the Worms . . . when we were free.
I would like to be free . . . I think. But it is difficult to imagine life without our masters. And, it is possible that things were not so good even before the Giants.
Whatever it was like, we are not supposed to speak of it or even think of it.
Still, many of us do, and that is why our own little, self-important man-worms rail at us, demanding that the ancient laws be followed - to appease the gods, to keep us safe, to maintain what they call our prosperity.
They preach new laws too, derived (they say) from the old laws, but it is a strange prosperity that we enjoy under all these Holy laws.
It is said that we - here - who “respect the law and honor our betters” - are particularly fortunate and are less frequently trod upon by the Great Ones (men in other lands, we know for a certainty, are eaten by their Giants).
Old Marbo claims that she has seen our Giants eating people too, but it is possible they were only evildoers brought here from another land.
I do not know.
* * *
“Work saves us,” says Da’miller, our man-worm overseer. If that is true, then why do I not know it? I have known enough of work to have been saved long ago.
“ Work is salvation.” What Wormshit!!
* * *
There is something wrong with these men, these worms who would be Worms. They can never be Worms; they can only be pale, slimy imitations of the great, ugly beasts who whisper in the Giants’ ears. Yet they slobber and bow in the presence of an actual Worm, transported by the orgasmic desire to kiss and lick its body, to eat its excrement, digest it, and produce it anew for us to wallow in as if it were their own.
Oh yes, we men wallow in it, to be sure. Many of us even take pride in it, and those who don’t are guaranteed to feel the wrath of those who do. These would-be Worms stand there, dripping shit and marketing their odor as an aphrodisiac, denigrating all who are not stained with subservience.
Oh supreme irony! They - basking in their Holiness - are the supreme sinners of mankind, the craven cowards who are not content with ending their human lives, but must end ours as well. Worms within worms within worms within worms - eating their putrid selves and demanding that we praise them for it - demanding that we emulate their ecstatic living death and so assuage the terrible guilt they feel but cannot face.
So be it. Let them eat themselves. Let them eat their masters’ shit and smear it upon themselves as a badge of honor. Let them parade before us smirking with pride in their utter degradation.
. . . but I will not be moved..
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