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Into The Heart Of A Soulless Existence

Damn these flies! 
There must be a half dozen of them 
Buzzing around my tiny room here, 
Buzzing and humming spasmodically, 
Like tongue-less eunuchs 
In a locked church full of salivating sodomites! 
Flies are actually amazing creatures 
That probably think like men 
And emotionalize like women. 
 I think they are attracted to my green onions here, 
As I again cut and shred and dice, 
And I am acutely aware 
That the blond dish is spying on me again. 
She must want something from me. 
She’s reaching out 
Without a living hand or arm. 
She’s reaching out 
Like the thousand estuaries of the Los Angeles River, 
As they poke and prod and pry 
Into the heart of a soulless existence. 
My existence! 
Wretched as it is! 
“Leave me alone! 
Can’t you see I’m minding my own business. 
Can’t you see that I am not that kind of guy?” 
“Shhhh! All I want is to spend some time with you. 
Maybe we can sip some champagne, 
Kinda cozy up on the couch there, 
Just you and me, see? 
And just talk about intelligent things, 
Like Joyce’s Ulysses, or Eliot’s Waste Land… 
‘I will show you fear in a handful of dust,’ 
Ooooh, doesn’t Eliot just give you goose-bumps?”  
“Are you kidding? Honey, 
Put the book down and come over here! 
God knows you weren’t made to read books. 
You were made to be a man’s crowning achievement! 
And nothing else. 
Since when does a delightful dame like you, 
With no formal education at all, 
Read the likes of T.S. Eliot and James Joyce? 
Who are you trying to kid? 
Please Norma Jeane, this is a man’s world 
And you need to stay where you belong, 
On the wide Big Screen in gorgeous technicolor, 
Wearing practically nothing.  
You belong there because we own you. 
Every single man with a pair attached 
Who has seen your movies, 
Owns you! 
We own your pulchritudinous face, 
Your shimmering blond hair 
And your gorgeous swirling hips; 
We even own the red of your ruby red lipstick.  
You’re nothing without us, Norma. 
And that’s the truth.
 So stay up there, 
On the Big Screen in the dark, 
So that we, all men, 
May feast upon you with our eyes, 
And know first hand what eternal redemption is!  
That’s your place, 
Your only place.” 
(Then my girl opened her moist red lips and purred): 
“I don’t mind living in a man’s world, 
Just as long as I can be a woman in it.” 
These flies know my name. 
These flies know my number! 
Next they’ll be nuzzling in my mustache, 
Wondering when the lips of the It Girl 
Will make their incredible approach. 
Red, seductive 
Helenesque lips; 
Do I dare disturb Hollywood? 
Do I dare disturb LA? 
Come with me to my Kasbah, 
And there I shall envelope you, 
Invoke you,
To render unto me 
Your deliberate and studied lines. 
“Billy! I need a flyswatter! 
Would you be a doll and go get me one?” 
Norma Jeane, why are you always carrying a phone?
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