In Pursuit of Youth and Perfection Through the Zen Ideal of Emptying (Or: How To Find Happiness By Selecting the Right Cell Phone Plan For You)
Hot Zen Mommas know where it’s at finding pleasure in just the right moment, which for them is always now; accessorizing with just a touch of guilt and a belly-ring made of licorice; smiling at some cute guy whose vow of poverty doesn’t quite extend to his new Cingular cell plan with unlimited text messaging and free colonoscopy phone with downloadable auto emoticon drivers that anticipate your every mood whenever texting, saving you the very need to experience anything.
“Composting and ride sharing are one thing,” he tells the Hot Zen Momma, “But being uncool is just so lame.” I might as well be storing weapons of mass destruction in my pants, I tell them at which point both of them stare at my crotch and imagine a code Orange alert.
She snaps a picture of his bio-diesal VW Jetta and they hop into the back seat for a quick blow job, then they split vowing to keep fighting the good fight, plugging in and dropping out at the local Starbucks and like double shots of expresso, set out to energize their 9,000 plus friends at their MySpace account, detailing plans of personal regime change, overturning paradigms not even dreamed of yet.
I think of MySpace as wandering around a cemetery, silent with all the noise. On the downside, MySpace is a haven for all those sexual predators but on the upside: there is all that sexual prey.
The revolution will not be televised but it will be optioned off for pay-per-view along with a premier of The Sopranos: The Musical.
“Oh Tony we hardly knew ya
though your cheatin’ wife won’t screw ya
Now your soft and old wishing for more,
Longing for the days of Pussy Galore”
No, the revolution will not be televised nor will it be coming to a mall near you.
Bass – how low can you go? Death Row what brother Bush know when he went looking for weapons of mass deception. Misled by the news my ass – it was all there in black and white but pump up the bass if it makes you deaf and shake all that junk in your trunk. Dance like friggin' I-Pod silhouette: vibrant, hip, potentially violent.
Text me you love me.
Text me that everything will be all right.
Text me what to do and I will do it. Even Hot Zen Mommas would vote if they could find the vote lever on their Blackberry.
The gospel according to Neiman-Marcus is that first quarter profits are down so ramp up the violence against women, against children, against brown skinned folks – War going badly? Hey if you liked the Hummer then you’ll love the Bradley M1 Abrams tank sports coupe, complete with keyless entry and six-CD changer that only plays one thing over and over. The M1 boasts 3 miles per gallon and takes road rage to a whole new level. “Cut in front of me now, motherfucker? I don’t think so.” Don’t push me, because I am close to the edge I tell you. I'm just trying to get ahead - it's like a jungle everywhere.
Next is personal tactical nukes in the glove compartments of every vehicle as drive by shootings turn into little, personal Hiroshimas with millions of tiny mushroom clouds leaving just the shadows standing while the property stands in tact – totally liquid – an Ebayer’s dream.
And all these Hot Zen Mommas and cute coffee barristas prime the demand pump with their ceaseless wanting, flowing like a river.
So even the IRS has a plan with this idea of eliminating taxes all together and putting little casinos in every town in America (except for that goofy made up place Celebration Florida in Disney since the feds wouldn’t allow them to put giant mouse ears on the roof.) Local casinos like vacuums sucking the Benjamins out of everyone’s pockets we have invented the voluntary tax.
Later, they can send strippers around and have people stuff fives and tens into their g-strings and use the money to fund the schools. “Prop 2 ½ this” you think as you linger just a little too long placing the bill in the spaghetti g-string. But damn if your kids test scores don’t start to climb, right along with their prozac scrips and the sale of dark trench coats to high schoolers as ADHD is no longer a disease but now becomes just another lifestyle choice.
All of this has the impact of the Times Square jumbotron with color and information everywhere but not one bit of contact. All that counts - all that we need to know is that all of are implicated in this – all of us, and all of it. So what we do is what we can do. We do this and then we do just a little bit more. Always a little more. And just don't stop thinking about how to live. God please don’t stop thinking about it because when we stop wondering if we are doing enough then we have lost everything.
“Composting and ride sharing are one thing,” he tells the Hot Zen Momma, “But being uncool is just so lame.” I might as well be storing weapons of mass destruction in my pants, I tell them at which point both of them stare at my crotch and imagine a code Orange alert.
She snaps a picture of his bio-diesal VW Jetta and they hop into the back seat for a quick blow job, then they split vowing to keep fighting the good fight, plugging in and dropping out at the local Starbucks and like double shots of expresso, set out to energize their 9,000 plus friends at their MySpace account, detailing plans of personal regime change, overturning paradigms not even dreamed of yet.
I think of MySpace as wandering around a cemetery, silent with all the noise. On the downside, MySpace is a haven for all those sexual predators but on the upside: there is all that sexual prey.
The revolution will not be televised but it will be optioned off for pay-per-view along with a premier of The Sopranos: The Musical.
“Oh Tony we hardly knew ya
though your cheatin’ wife won’t screw ya
Now your soft and old wishing for more,
Longing for the days of Pussy Galore”
No, the revolution will not be televised nor will it be coming to a mall near you.
Bass – how low can you go? Death Row what brother Bush know when he went looking for weapons of mass deception. Misled by the news my ass – it was all there in black and white but pump up the bass if it makes you deaf and shake all that junk in your trunk. Dance like friggin' I-Pod silhouette: vibrant, hip, potentially violent.
Text me you love me.
Text me that everything will be all right.
Text me what to do and I will do it. Even Hot Zen Mommas would vote if they could find the vote lever on their Blackberry.
The gospel according to Neiman-Marcus is that first quarter profits are down so ramp up the violence against women, against children, against brown skinned folks – War going badly? Hey if you liked the Hummer then you’ll love the Bradley M1 Abrams tank sports coupe, complete with keyless entry and six-CD changer that only plays one thing over and over. The M1 boasts 3 miles per gallon and takes road rage to a whole new level. “Cut in front of me now, motherfucker? I don’t think so.” Don’t push me, because I am close to the edge I tell you. I'm just trying to get ahead - it's like a jungle everywhere.
Next is personal tactical nukes in the glove compartments of every vehicle as drive by shootings turn into little, personal Hiroshimas with millions of tiny mushroom clouds leaving just the shadows standing while the property stands in tact – totally liquid – an Ebayer’s dream.
And all these Hot Zen Mommas and cute coffee barristas prime the demand pump with their ceaseless wanting, flowing like a river.
So even the IRS has a plan with this idea of eliminating taxes all together and putting little casinos in every town in America (except for that goofy made up place Celebration Florida in Disney since the feds wouldn’t allow them to put giant mouse ears on the roof.) Local casinos like vacuums sucking the Benjamins out of everyone’s pockets we have invented the voluntary tax.
Later, they can send strippers around and have people stuff fives and tens into their g-strings and use the money to fund the schools. “Prop 2 ½ this” you think as you linger just a little too long placing the bill in the spaghetti g-string. But damn if your kids test scores don’t start to climb, right along with their prozac scrips and the sale of dark trench coats to high schoolers as ADHD is no longer a disease but now becomes just another lifestyle choice.
All of this has the impact of the Times Square jumbotron with color and information everywhere but not one bit of contact. All that counts - all that we need to know is that all of are implicated in this – all of us, and all of it. So what we do is what we can do. We do this and then we do just a little bit more. Always a little more. And just don't stop thinking about how to live. God please don’t stop thinking about it because when we stop wondering if we are doing enough then we have lost everything.
posted by M C Biegner at 11:06 PM
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