IT'S ALL FOR NOTHING / STALIN'S VERY DACHA

216: IT'S ALL FOR NOTHING / STALIN'S VERY DACHA (a romp):

Having to say I've done nothing today doesn't make me happy - the clothes stink my socks stick to my feet and I'm tired of taking care of the little things : teeth nails face-washing and all the rest - IN FACT I'm bored with thinking about bored so I walk around looking at cars and people both of them to me about equal in stupidity and design and I like to look at faces as grills of cars and legs as wheels and the overall comportment of a person's walk and swagger as the extended design overlap of some tendentious car somewhere - all ridiculous lines and bulges and lights and chrome but CARS it seems never grow fat (if they are they're made that way) while people just load up and bulge to grossness and then they waddle around with stuff to stretch and cars on the other hand just roll over to the side of the road eventually and just DIE and get carted away while (again on the other hand) for people the whole atrocious arrival of death is a long and painful drawn-out affair with extra attention given to upkeep and elongation of useful time (but I never know WHY!) and just as it is so it goes and sometimes it's not even worth getting up in the morning until - JUST LIKE THAT - one day you don't.
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And the lazy ones the crazy ones the frazzled ones they always go first and they seldom come back : twenty stories of valor fifty distorted lies of what didn't happen ten thousand epics related as fact to a believing audience of idiots vagrants and fools and little middle-men trying to make money on piss and vinegar and Puerto Rican babes hanging from the Perth Amboy corners of time like so much wattle on a sloppy old neck - they throw out their huge asses and ill-fitting jeans with knit tops five sizes too small for two gigantic overwrought top-heavy tits just ready to swing down and snap off your head and their faces are filled with lint and the dark hours of time and adhesion - mascara lipstick eyewash rouge beauty marks warts bumps pimples and more - none of it matters to Carlos NO MORE - and they're haunting tonight the old waterfront with Amazon parrots on their shoulders and they feed them pretzels and make them sing while the wedding-party guests at the Armory come by for photographs and leave a dollar behind as a way of saying 'thanks for all that' and the guys are still watching (come Monday morning they're milkmen again at the local drive-in dairy) and their tongues five-feet long hang out of their mouths and they drain their malfeasance with carnival bouts of malt liquor and vodka and Bayberry Rum and sooner than later it's over and instead of leaving they'd much rather come.
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The man said "I'm turning green I can't see and my body won't sleep - what should I do?" as the doctor before him bent down to check out his feet and then the doctor said "it looks as though your feet are quite swollen in fact they've swelled over the tops of your shoes - when did you last have them off your feet?" and the man said "I never remove my shoes for I might have somewhere to go you never know at any time" and the doctor said "well you won't get there if you're blind will you?" and then he had the aides take the man away and said "remove all his clothing put him in a bed and sedate him considerably or at least enough so that we can give him a complete going over without any resistance" and then there was no one left and before he too finally exited I said to the doctor "what will you do bind him in stitches?" and the doctor replied "he doesn't need a stitch he needs a switch" and he left me a paper with directions on it for Montefiore Medical Center where he said they were giving out free anal retinascopes with refreshments for people on isolated relief - and I said "not for me - if it's a medical program run by the government I want nothing to do with it - it reeks of eugenics and nazi-type programmatic selective removal of class and social enemies" at which he laughed and said "suit yourself" and left the room.
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'The day's haft dover - why didn't you get me up?' - I got a real kick out of 'half-over' being rendered as 'haft dover' like that and found myself chuckling and listening carefully for more but as quickly as they'd come they left (it was apparently a couple who'd awakened late and were just starting now with a street-breakfast as they walked) and the last thing I heard was 'yeah yeah I jest seent him'.
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You're never going to know you're not gonna' know and because of that everyone practically always tries to figure out their destiny or their reason for being here and all the rest of that type of stuff and maybe there are entire philosophies built around this or that idea of being but in the end it's all no matter because every answer by the search itself eludes an answer and any conclusion would be anti-climactic anyway because you still have to go on living - and if you believe in miracles then go ahead and do so or if on the other hand you want for and wish for nothing then OK too - be the stay-at-home recluse you've always wanted to be - in the total end IT'S ALL FOR NOTHING.
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The iron-fisted enforcer the stern taskmaster the odd fellow of a thousand faces he was just here hanging from a tree and just like Stalin's very dacha - which now they're renting out - you can spend years unknown and represented under false pretenses until Voila! one day you're found out and the truth is told and then everyone wants to line up under your Linden tree but it makes no sense that you ever got started - that you even showed up - and who would have thought that in such a manner things could be foiled : but even Christ was nailed to a tree and they sold his blood for a mere penny but erected around that an entire edifice of gold and silver and riches and wealth so the very unwholesome story of life (having to do evidently with trees) really has no finish ('world without end' I swear someone said but it only turned out to be the 'Glory Be' prayer which is in no way doctrine or official Biblical stuff just some crud made up by that church in 317AD - and for that they went running for cover) : and I like the funny stuff as much as anyone else but there should be limits to creeds and doctrines and beliefs but I'd rather it be told in some other fashion - like direct from the Heavens into one's brain at night or sent by lightning from some distant portal of awareness MAYBE THEN I'd believe in something old-fashioned something ancient something faded something aged.