Pleased to Meet Me? Why I am Not Running for the President of the United States, Right Now ...
After a considerable amount of delay, that is to say, approximately one week and two years before election day 2012, I have decided to put off any further consideration of running for the President of the United States.
Sure, gosh darn it, I need the salary. Plus, my crimes against humanity are already well documented in my own books. I am comfortable speaking in front of small crowds, as well, and I can write my own speeches, too. That would save the government money, right there ... in order to reduce the deficit.
To save even more time, so that I could have saved you, the taxpayer, even more time if not money, I could have just stopped writing speeches altogether. I could just talk off the top of my head. Like Rand Paul, or, President Ronald Reagan used to do (until they told him to keep to the "vision thing" while on the campaign trails, that is).
Oh sure, I had (have) other good qualities as well. For example, I throw my cigarette butts in the trash or the ostrich-necked containers left on public porches. Or in my pockets, if out in nature. I recycle tobacco, when needed. So that makes me a physical conservative.
My art tastes tend toward super realism. I hate to drive myself or anybody else anywhere. In fact, when possible, I refuse to drive. I promote the pedestrian lifestyle. Both in my actions and in my lifestyle choices and most certainly in pedestrian thinking.
I actually like to speak to reporters. Witches, too. I suppose that makes me pretty "Mavericky."
I have been all over the country, the cities of America, too. I know very little about other nations. But I am a God-given talent in the area of military strategy (Risk, all Avalon Hill strategy games, lots of top-down video games, such as Microsoft's "Age of Empires).
I endorse the space program. Public and private and the all kept very quite secret one(s). Both "inner" and "outer" space for me.
I feel your pain as well as my own. I'm kind. Gentle. Obedient. Brave. O sure, I'll obey the laws of the pack. I mean, like, this Dude Abides.
I have a booming voice. I have been a voting member of the Democrat, Republican and Green parties. In fact, I am very comfortable at parties. Especially after a couple of shots (Okay, okay, maybe three shots of tequila, tops). But I actually don't drink much. I really don't like beer. Never did. The stuff tastes like piss waiting to happen, if you ask me. So I would have promised to never take a dime from the beer or bourbon or aluminum can lobbies.
I'm obviously not afraid of trouble (re: Buy My Damn Books Dot Calm). I actually like hot water. Especially in the winter, when doing dishes.
I've lived in mansions and tract homes and tents and cars and at least one trailer down by the river, and gosh darn it, people do like me ... until they really, really get to know me (family, X wives, etc.)
I am not running for president even though my list of qualifications includes but is not limited to being one of the last high school quarterbacks in human history to call his own plays. Usually, I like to throw on first down. Run to the weak side. But I'll give that all up, if needed, or would've, if I even really wanted to be president.
Shoot ... I had organizational ties in many, many states; some of them altered. I speak a little Spanish, French, Haitian, Russian, Hopi and English and in Tongues, often at the same time. I'm a big military history buff. Love to buff. I buff early, buff often. I'm a regular buffalo soldier.
I never ever get tired or sleep. I won't kiss dogs or babies to get votes. Too many germs (I mean, like, I don't want to get the dogs or babies sick). I won't wag the tail to make the dog move. I keep away from the tail. I mean, like I said, this Dude Abides. I most certainly won't wag my tail at you about the way you train your dog, nor will I wag my finger at you about God.
Quite honestly, the only reason I even considered running for president was because I wanted to drink tequila at the Tea Party convention with Sarah Palin. I also would have like to speak on TV to Rachel Maddow and John Stewart. But not at the same time. Not even in Tongues. Though I might try that to heal Glenn Back (that sweater wearin' tool!) I'd certainly try to correct him on American history in the most straightforward English I could muster. Mr Rogers, in his, quote, "Neighborhood," understood it better than Glenn Beck. But so does Homer Simpson ...
Lastly, since I know many nouns, some of them are my best friends, and verbs, since I am an "action" person, I think I would have made a great toy action figure, just like that guy who got 30 or so percent of the vote running for Congress a couple of weeks ago ... before his presidential considerations, and toy action figure considerations, no doubt began (after losing). Sure, I had been just like Kathleen O'Donnell (or was it Rosie, I forget?) who lost big and might as well leave her campaign signs out for the next two years for her highly entertaining run for president of the United States.
But no, even though I would have made Alice Cooper's "I Want to Get Elected" my campaign theme song, and can karaoke new lyrics for any song by the Doors off the top of my head, I will not run. Even if I would have been committed from Day One.
Beneath the Surface
Meanwhile, at the Gothic Art show,
where the library of Alexandria
has failed to burn down,
due to better security
and more available stone,
the question gets asked,
but there is always a chance
for a follow-up question
and the mysteries are further
along, which is to say, more science,
less so magic ... but why roil of crosses?
Why is it written down at all?
Why was it written, or read, upside down?
Why should a Book be painted in two-thirds,
Magdalene in richer surroundings,
revealed with a pot of Lily
in the foreground to foretell
the coming and going of Joan of Arc?
Why would God need to read down,
creating the need to leave the Book
pointed up in order to ascertain
that which the Creator already knows?
In the Book of Kells
the Gaelic kept
the coming and going,
waiting to leave and weave
out in a swirl of possibilities,
in a dervish tree-mind of Nature ...
O, how such details are wasted
on Jesus believers in a hurry
to get home to watch the Dallas Cowboys
down from above ... They, who have found
such easy answers on the surface, maybe a halo,
a hoot, in the institutions of the arts,
who drives their hairy chariots
across the bones of the Blood
of Jesus, always the little boy,
always the Man, the Saint!
O sure, O sure,
the Iris isn't Eris
for sorrows or such fools,
for neither minnows or Bulls,
for the peacocks or for Pride,
or for Paradise
or for the AOL
of the mind ...
For factories in Flanders?
Do we blame the Dutch ... really?
The Dutch? And speaking of towns,
tongues and virgins, unchurched,
but, all the same able to act
quite natural, but hidden for sight
in those visceral bones of sacred light,
the arcana of the Black Madonna
in from views but taller than them all
in the geometric sacred Twin Towers
of Solomon ... for Hieronymous Bosch,
who liked the challenge of harbors
in disorders and hidden orders
to synthesize the Dhambala,
the Sirius, the Dog Star ...
in order to ask O why, o why
or why ...