Wednesday, March 24, 2010
What would Freud say about a drumstick-wielding Colonel? Is a Freudian Slip a kind of sheer night-wear donned -- "by accident"? Or is it sheer night-mare? (The sleek she-horse who arrives in the dark). One must worship the stormy sea, and one must worship the sun-shine, before one can worship the potato. That would be my triptych, if I were told to have triptych, if our government, say, decided that all Americans should have access to triptych: Water, Light, Tuber. In terms of what I can do for my country -- I can ask what my country can do for me! It's a kind of Perverse Osmosis Patriotism, and it is, now, available in most beverages. We should protest those who engage in windy fascist tactics, The Gustapo. And we should protest those who engage in soupy fascist tactics, The Gazpacho. Pop for weasel, culture, and dislocations. Pop for soda, gramps, and dislocations. Alert: the Fraud Fräulein is a-loose; she must've given her jailers the Freudian Slip. The she-horse is a-galloping; the ocean must be nourishing the potato.