Monday, February 11, 2013

kissing the french...

Women, bleddy women he moaned, angry that she was almost taking over all his spare thoughts apart from taking over the world. Now on texting terms, what if she sent him something risqué. He’d asked to see a photo of her family, making the request in order to keep the fledgling friendship friendly not personal. She, madga, sounded like Magdalene, mary, the da vincii code, dan brown, theory he thought, as all thinking was just that, theory, and theory made story, he was thinking it through. Religion was sexy sometimes, magda was catholic. Maybe there’s a story in this, Hollywood thought so too, but like the film Alexander, not all hero’s can be put successfully in a can, perhaps on a poster, che guevarra one fine example of it, JFK. Religion he thought, reminding himself of the crowds that used to attend church but no longer did, everything changes and everyone, alright to lust, just don’t become addicted, he switching quickly to the girlie channel, big ones, plastic ones, egg shaped, circular, hanging, all wallpaper, each of them playing a very human role, in accordance with nature, the nourishment of human life. Fools gloated over them, many fear exposing themselves, their real selves, others for money, most out of boredom, the truly interested ones being those in the early stages of sexual awakening and experience, and those deprived of all contact with the human race. thirteen, as he remembered, seeing bardot in a late night movie, that got him going. she was alluring he thought, stretching back the years in the chair. French too, harry liked the French, bardot reminding him, bread, paris, cannes, perfume, style, and passion, even if the world pays a premium for it, the real thing that is, and Bardot was passionate. The girls on screen looked like performing seals, not in anyway alluring. He reaches for the JD, pours a good slice of it into his tall glass, filling it half, clumps in the last three ice cubes, splashes it over with coke. The bottle fizzes as he puts it down. He liked that, seeing fizz in a bottle. No more ice, he could ring down for more. He’d a lot of TV to go through, war going on in the middle east. All sides were baiting the world with propaganda, and harry had to get a handle on it if he was going to use some of it in a sermon. They kissed regularly, another reason harry liked the French. They were not afraid of hugging and kissing, less likely to go to war too..

No comments:

Post a Comment