Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Darling, you're so right, beasts don't do what we do, and neither did early pre-modern humans, though who knows. They spent millenia obsessively chiseling those seemingly useless bifacial hand axes (the name of the implement is misleading, it's not an axe as we post-moderns (since the advent of the Iron age at least) think of them, as a chopping tool). Sweetheart, I have taken a few sips of a delicious minerally white Rioja and felt instantly amorous and thought of you, my dear Minotaur, and lay down with my pink silicon fully-charged bifacial tool - and had a revelation. What if those prehistoric numerous enigmatic artifacts were covered by some softer material, say smooth mammoth skin or who knows, tongue - key soft-tissue components lost to the fossil record - and boring, boring lifetimes pre-internet, cell, TV, movies, Netflix, the printing press, and the porn industry, were in one's lifetime - what was the life expectancy? pretty short, one must have been in one's sexual peak a great deal of it - pleasantly, pleasantly occupied, in thinking of one's beloved hunter gone off to forests or range or Kansas or what were later to become flood-prone Dutch latitudes - that in fact these comfortably handheld nonmechanical objects did indeed have a very specific and amazing use - only that puritanical Westerners (entrapped in the self-enslaving superbrain) interpreting the lurid artifacts are too reticent to ascribe to them such "Samantha" type uses in an era way, way before - if not Sex, then the City.

Seriously, my little pink stand-in for parts of you - is the same shape & size as one of those perfect teardrop-shaped hand-chiseled palm-held rocks.

What's the literary term for a part of something meant to stand in for the whole? Damn, I really was not a very good English major, even less so Philosophy. How can I presume myself ever having majored (or half- or double-majored) in Philosophy, when I never took a single course in Logic? Quite a feat. (Can you tell?!) And I would have arguments - well, not arguments, just profound skeptical disagreements on deeply felt intuitive grounds - with the professor who led the intimate Wittgenstein seminar in the oak-paneled room. Animals don't have feelings or thoughts because they don't have language, she would insist, parroting (I guess) Wittgenstein. (Do parrots mean what they say?) I didn't have the mental capacity or tools to effectively repudiate what she was saying - but I didn't agree with her, and I felt viscerally that it was a dangerous, cruel, overly anthropo-centric (if that's the word) view to take. And I suppose the rest of my life - in my own personal evolution - I have come to feel even closer to my original instincts on the subject, and a little while ago, when the cat for whom I'm petsitting vocalized and winked meaningfully at me, I played a little Bob Schneider for her - Let the Light In.

A few more sips of that divine white Rioja, and I only wish I had you here with me to share it with, along with somehow a magically appearing seafood risotto perhaps, that would be perfect with this cool delicious wine. And your kisses. Oh my love.

Ain't we beasts? No, darling. Only very loving lone conflicted creatures, half-mind, half-body, in impossible circumstances - ... it's always been that way, that's the way it was the way it will be again, forever and ever, amen.

Many kisses. Come here you, let me give you a kiss - taste this delicious wine.

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