An Honest Love Affair
An honest love affair
‘I love you darling, cheers to poverty and Nastrovje, let us get on with it and finish the Job.’
Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth, look there is hope for all those poor devils, cluttering and clustering around shrapnel, pitch forks, machetes and fire.
Vladimir and Donald sit in the sauna, clip each other’s velvet underground skins and listen to Nico. They look a bit like Warhol’s tomato soup cans of trash, red in the face and exposed as what they are in full frontal nudity.
Birch twigs descend in rhythm and rigor to the sound of the band, revealing nature through chimes of drug abuse and macho sadistic denial. Lashed streaks emerge red and raised, where the whips shout pleasure in Republican crimson and Crimean delight. A slip of the tongue and a burp here and there, so much gas in the sparkling ferment of Ukrainian grapes and Red Indian peace pipes demised.
Meanwhile in a parallel Universe, moss grows lean on stones in Mostar and Mosul.
When all is taken from you, surely the Gods must be cursed and evil prevail in the world, that is Darwin in a nut shell, while sweat trickles down phallic endeavours and balls intertwined. ‘Give it to me baby, the world does not know yet, but we are friends after all’.
Ashes smoulder on the hot stove and a bit more heat will not harm the harmonious feast and cleansing of souls. ‘Let us put another Lenin on the fire, and some Constitution, never know which is what and the pilgrims and peasants won’t mind. Much better than to read the bastards, too much drivel when hard core will do’.
Two presidents and one precedent in the precinct of the hottest enclosure of the planet. Who needs more walls to keep mischief in and revolution out when all we need is innuendo, play to the fore, perspiration, hot flushes, climate change, Smirnov and distilled Sour Mash.
There is no doubt in my sober mind, that the orange tan stems from hepatic cirrhosis and any man riding bare chested on a stallion must have imbibed one more tipple too many. Not much hair on that chest either and that does not bode well for the liver. Thus, too much humour of bad flowing gall, unless rehabilitation ensues.
‘But then the world is such a mess and we are true saviours’, they scream out when they both stumble onto their oven and burnt skin calls for a change. ‘We must stop the booze, we are drunk psychopaths, too wasted to even admire our beauty in the frozen waters outside of the sauna.’
Meanwhile in Darfur and Allepo, thirst trickles down throats where hell freezes over the desert, humanity dehydrates, collusion combusts, but nations are united.
There is hope, we must never give up. In projections and dreams of a humane human condition, conditioning can be reprogrammed. Donald and Vladimir align with the collateral masses, who lie still and comatose in hunger, cuddled up in megalomaniac ruins and vow they had their last bloody drink one step at the time. ‘Secrets make us sick, cyber hacking or not’.
In some instances, genetic malfunction can be overcome and ‘there will be no booze anyway, when all has gone up in smoke of destruction.’ At other times, ‘Chronos’ calls for living up to the promise of what has been endowed and entrusted by nature.
Tons of transcendence and transformation, but by the stroke of good fortune, images are transposed, utopia made real, revealed and unveiled, the writing is clear as high spirits, when destiny looms, shrivelled and pruned.
History has its bottle necks, windows of opportunity, channels of change when one hangover and one potent potion is too many and a thousand are not enough. It takes guts to stop the madness, when you are addicted to delirium, fame, flaccid aspirations under the cover of too much fortification.
Histrionics might cease, when cistrons spiral into control of genetic lotteries, helices beautifully compose a spirited dance flurried by random chance, are embraced and adorned, sometimes we cannot get away from the genes and why would we try. Unlike addictions, some things never change and neither should they succumb to muted mutilation, however much the genie of public order’s opinion wants to depress, oppress and repress the vessel of natural selection.
Honesty and truth cannot lie, just lie dormant under half-hearted sheets in the darkness. Any love for a man or a woman is beautiful, when it comes out of the cupboard and the prison walls of disorderly constraint. Peace between genders, orientation, sexes, so called races and classes of all kinds can flourish, when gentle pleasuring men in the sauna caress each other’s skin, massage their balls and convictions, rather than Ego’s and chauvinistic distortion.
Trump with pumps and high pointed heels, feather boa tickling and vibrating in earnest, makes up for past mascara and homophobic shadows, tears the mask from his face as he weeps with cotton candy looks in the other man’s feminine arms. Queer and jolly gay, but we knew it all along the hard cover way, that the most ardent haters of proud woman, lesbians, homos and anyone else not cisgender, only tries to disguise and cover up what they themselves struggled to display, for too long in lost longing.
Getting hard on all that is other, constraining abortion, cursing sensual and sexual diversity, fragmenting society and marginalizing true inner wishes is one erection of dishonesty too far, one little death too distorted.
Putin, praise the velvet stola around your lusting loins, skirt from the edges, dispense necklaces and brocades from frilled oyster’s couture, put your mouth where your heart is, stop being fallacious, laud that hail of fellow fellatio, do not stand foul and not fallow, when upright distinction may stand tall and erect. Keep using the whip in the sauna, ring your nipples and shackle your friend, but stop all that persecution of dissent. ‘No means no’, wherever it comes from, stop imposing and posturing. Do not torture all those who admit before you, that life holds more than talking tough on mighty minorities, or than grabbing some pussy with your secret orange agent and lover. No more bragging about it in camouflage of true heartfelt desire, no more pretending to be harder than hard.
Guys, please do not divorce yourself from your feelings, you are as wonderfully gay as they come, when you come and come to your senses. Do not swing your emotions and love your brother in arms. Nothing better for all of us, if a little more honest empathy evolves from tender moans and passionate groans come to the surface.
Life is a hot house, a sauna with all kinds of bums, bosoms and bellies. We share differences and similarities. Loving thy neighbour is a job well done in all kind of senses. Real men cry and two lovers can save the planet. Adam and Eve tried, but that sneaky beast intervened. Put on the leathers, saddle the mountain. One step at a time and remember no booze. Let go and let flow, show your true colours, be honest and open and squeak in delight.
After all the good tidings, the bear must not growl and the statue of liberty will not burn in hell when he kisses the grizzly.
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