I still remember the first tinge of desire I ever felt. Like many of my emotions it got bastardized at a much too young age by the mainstream mass media.
I refer to Princess Leia during her stint as a scantily-clad slave of Jabba the Hutt.
I was 8ish. Now I'm 28ish. Not much has changed.
See, a guy like Jabba the Hutt resonates deeply with my own experience as the epitome of bad.
A strong, beautiful, competent woman enslaved by bad is about as enticing a target as I could find.
I'm told to build my empire but see myself becoming a Jabba if I ever were to do so. I could easily become a greedy bastard if the money started flowing. We all could. And anyway...
I'd rather walk the sky any day of the week.
Broke as a joke but laughing all the way.
I'm not referring to any one person as Jabba. I can't say the same for Leia.
I don't place blame on individuals. We all just got here. I refer to society's tenets, culture's accepted aspirations.
The Empire Strikes Back.
Today I found myself surfing waves much weaker and smaller than the last few days.
Though the surf was nothing, I found myself panicked every time I went through the spin cycle. Those brief seconds of helplessness made my current lack of control momentarily unbearable.
I felt buried alive. I felt lost in space. Alone and burning.
After a few falls I found myself on the beach, contemplating my mortality and convincing the bartender to spot me some drinks.
Three beers deep and low on hope I ran into an acquaintance from Jackson Hole. I got to spill my guts, and it made me feel much better.
Back at the boatload I'm hounded about my excellence, my transcendence, my inspirational mentality.
The drunker they get, the better they make me sound.
The drunker I get, the better I listen.
I'm told stories of love and loss. I'm told stories of death.
I'm offered something like Fate's Consolation Prize.
I'm offered release and convenient guilt. I decline.
I'm left wondering, "If life's so short, why am I so alone?".
The question itself makes little sense. I know there's no answer.
So I'm snuggling Maestra and singing over and over and over again...
...a giggling falsetto operatic arrangement of...
...the lyric of the day.
***
Why must I be like that?
Why must I chase the cat?
Nothin' but the dog in me.
-George Clinton, Atomic Dog
***
I'm not torn to bits. You can't shred tatters.
A good woman fights back. Against whom is the only question.
Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm. I'm powerless but to love it all.
Max