If I have said too much about myself, it has been because of the third nerve, and its connection with the ciliary ganglion, which in my case is overly large....I absented myself from the lug’s bartendery orbit and concentrated on my cerveza...and in she popped, and I could see right away she wanted mostly to be in the movies, and though she told me the night previous fame was a nasty tonic, I could see as she split the humid lusty crowd in two that she meant none of it...I ducked behind my imaginary white raimnent, but she gleaned my fortitude, and calmly walked up and kissed me for all to see...When a woman wants to make a man feel the great whistling photon elegant blindness of 100 percent radiant attention--that she alone, having possessed you--could deliver, I bow humble before thy power...freedom is a sad word which cannot describe anything American for the American cannot truly know freedom anymore...he now rots in his Corporate cosmos...but in Central American an American--a honky, gringo, blueblood--can become free if he chooses to. If one Latin American woman gives him her undivided, equatorial, temperate attention for at least one night then for a brief time there will be the illusion of something eternal, a peek of the thought-free and word-free state that is /Atman...
Oh but Said (Sa-eeeed)...had you thought I had forgotten about him? He would be here shortly...but not this night...for this night it would be Ramona and I, and for a while Celeste, and of course we would see Vera and my mother, and there would always be Peter the Brit, half-pissed and insulting, and then there would always be Tom the Boatyard owner and his Asian bitch Lily, or maybe it would be the mullet-permed blonde steroid ass-wipe and his slutacious big-bare-titted and heinously short-skirted piglette of a girlfriend...we would see them all and they would see us...oh they would see us...Sad Fugitive Freedom...Such thoughts they had and how they showed their lust and desire...how Ramona could make them show anything because she had what they all wanted so badly...that odalisque of beauty, a modicum of natural Rimbaud, the locks of hair tangled like trees...R was the antithesis of their death, their fear of their own death...Ramona was the furthest thing they could see from their demise...
At length, I stood all alone in the hole...with my jeweled escapement in my hand...eliminating Belikan, congratulating myself, cursing myself, being thoroughly the vision of Bodhisattva NeutraZimmermantylerdurgin Guyavera mother fucker...It was becoming clear that Ramona and I really did have something cooking and I almost pissed myself happy...I dead-cat bounced back into the anterior humeral regions of my Ecuadorian...We were placed at the beach-side of the bar and R was jumping in my lap and driving her tongue so deep in my throat I thought Throat! Throat!! ?What tickleth thee so? But then I realized it was my lungs she was licking...
-Michael Price
