"The healthiest man in the universe, upon autopsy, cross fingers--actually, scratch that, I'm French*... his lungs were pink..."
Dan was drunk, Dan was pink with thought, he was existential, or was he DADA? Was i just a tired couch laying irony on the ironing board of drunk life? Was this an Alex Gray session, was this a small Swedish restaurant psychedelic conference at a public back room in a cafe at the end of the turn of the century? and the new millenium? Was this post-traumatic New York Disorder?
The healthiest human in the universe smoked all of his life on his macrobiotic diet. Why? In one reality, for this wordology topic, Dan cased, a man tripeful of word-plays with a case of red wine. It appeared, he played with it temporarily, to pass by like a placebo-mosquito modifier, hints here and there, as when a novel is caught by the wind on a sandy beach, and the pages flit back and forth, and the mind's eye catches them anyway, being so far away from Philadelphia and all that, and needing, oh so needing SPF, as he swiftly adjusts with a downward swift stroke in the fancied air:
"Americans have a problem, fetishizing the body and the possibly empty neurotic rituals such as vitamins- E, K, Zinc, Fibre, diets, healthy food."
Changing his arm of thought, starting from wrist, extending to the elbow, and slumbing off a turn of the neck lazily from the head, shifting in his seat to talk about the smoking study.
"I don't care about bad lungs... I don't want to be found alive at 75 or 80 with healthy lungs, let them be corroded."
I warily nodded, of course; being that it appeared that all thoughts related to the demise of me--my personality. I'm sitting in front of Satan, I thought, the nemesis, the confusion of my days. I need the emergency American Eagle scout to jump in and punch him in the face, so he can be out of the picture, so I can bathe myself in sleep on the couch, with the window allowing a modicum of fresh air to breeze in, just enough as to slightly fix the balance in the AM rising, to secure that only healthy results occur after my 100% morning intoxicating ritual, usually starting and ending with hocking phlegm.
"Phlegm," he continued, "is apparently what the germ of disease and sickness needs to attach to in order for someone to get 'sick'." Then we switched to cancer, as he took a drag.
"A healthy attitude is what one needs, or not to give a fuck, I mean to say. Americans..."
Puff puff.
"The longest-living people in the world, the Japanese--no, not the Chinese... Chinese food is poison--the Italians, Swiss, French (I really don't recall) all do whatever the fuck they feeeel like."
"And I suppose that has nothing to do with California-based new age principles of whole body / whole mind / whole particle regeneration? Life regeneration?"
"Partly," he retorts.
"Oh... okay. Then what's the other part, Dan?"
"Eh-heh... The French cuisine is chock full of unhealthy ingredients. A french diet is whatever tastes good... 'Tonight, ce la vie... I am a French bourgeoise elite... mua.' But the French diet is like this every day. Tripe, cod liver and oil, butter, cream, salt, sugar, fat, meat, intestines, frog's legs and calf eyeballs... lemons wedged in a pig, the bladder of a baby cow, a pheasant." "Even MSG?"
"Yes! No, not really," laughing out loud to himself as he took a swig of his tenth cigerette required for the study. He looked at the cigerette as the example the whole time.
"I'm not used to 10 a day," he says.
"All this talk is making me hungry for a cigerette," I said.
"Really? Do you want one?"
I nodded and he tossed one over. A marlboro light, which tasted less poisony and lasted longer without extinguishing compared to Camel cigarettes.
"I really wish i could just smoke straight tobacco."
"You see... the real killer is stress, which causes high blood pressure. When they evaluated me, they were quite surprised. I had absolutely no signs of high blood pressure. I am basically healthy." (Well... he didn't say this.) But insinuated all the fallacies to the maladies comprised and homed off to death college in Park USA of the American Environment called US. Well, most of us. Me and the Philly crew. I'm stressed, I have stressers; am I wrong to be making this movie?
"Is that unnatural, Dan?"
"No, that's your life."
"Oh cool!" I smiled and laughed at my personal success in kicking life's ass. That's me! We gazed off in the distance. I said I was reallly tired, but I'd like to rewrite the story and the next one too.
Dan was drunk, Dan was pink with thought, he was existential, or was he DADA? Was i just a tired couch laying irony on the ironing board of drunk life? Was this an Alex Gray session, was this a small Swedish restaurant psychedelic conference at a public back room in a cafe at the end of the turn of the century? and the new millenium? Was this post-traumatic New York Disorder?
The healthiest human in the universe smoked all of his life on his macrobiotic diet. Why? In one reality, for this wordology topic, Dan cased, a man tripeful of word-plays with a case of red wine. It appeared, he played with it temporarily, to pass by like a placebo-mosquito modifier, hints here and there, as when a novel is caught by the wind on a sandy beach, and the pages flit back and forth, and the mind's eye catches them anyway, being so far away from Philadelphia and all that, and needing, oh so needing SPF, as he swiftly adjusts with a downward swift stroke in the fancied air:
"Americans have a problem, fetishizing the body and the possibly empty neurotic rituals such as vitamins- E, K, Zinc, Fibre, diets, healthy food."
Changing his arm of thought, starting from wrist, extending to the elbow, and slumbing off a turn of the neck lazily from the head, shifting in his seat to talk about the smoking study.
"I don't care about bad lungs... I don't want to be found alive at 75 or 80 with healthy lungs, let them be corroded."
I warily nodded, of course; being that it appeared that all thoughts related to the demise of me--my personality. I'm sitting in front of Satan, I thought, the nemesis, the confusion of my days. I need the emergency American Eagle scout to jump in and punch him in the face, so he can be out of the picture, so I can bathe myself in sleep on the couch, with the window allowing a modicum of fresh air to breeze in, just enough as to slightly fix the balance in the AM rising, to secure that only healthy results occur after my 100% morning intoxicating ritual, usually starting and ending with hocking phlegm.
"Phlegm," he continued, "is apparently what the germ of disease and sickness needs to attach to in order for someone to get 'sick'." Then we switched to cancer, as he took a drag.
"A healthy attitude is what one needs, or not to give a fuck, I mean to say. Americans..."
Puff puff.
"The longest-living people in the world, the Japanese--no, not the Chinese... Chinese food is poison--the Italians, Swiss, French (I really don't recall) all do whatever the fuck they feeeel like."
"And I suppose that has nothing to do with California-based new age principles of whole body / whole mind / whole particle regeneration? Life regeneration?"
"Partly," he retorts.
"Oh... okay. Then what's the other part, Dan?"
"Eh-heh... The French cuisine is chock full of unhealthy ingredients. A french diet is whatever tastes good... 'Tonight, ce la vie... I am a French bourgeoise elite... mua.' But the French diet is like this every day. Tripe, cod liver and oil, butter, cream, salt, sugar, fat, meat, intestines, frog's legs and calf eyeballs... lemons wedged in a pig, the bladder of a baby cow, a pheasant." "Even MSG?"
"Yes! No, not really," laughing out loud to himself as he took a swig of his tenth cigerette required for the study. He looked at the cigerette as the example the whole time.
"I'm not used to 10 a day," he says.
"All this talk is making me hungry for a cigerette," I said.
"Really? Do you want one?"
I nodded and he tossed one over. A marlboro light, which tasted less poisony and lasted longer without extinguishing compared to Camel cigarettes.
"I really wish i could just smoke straight tobacco."
"You see... the real killer is stress, which causes high blood pressure. When they evaluated me, they were quite surprised. I had absolutely no signs of high blood pressure. I am basically healthy." (Well... he didn't say this.) But insinuated all the fallacies to the maladies comprised and homed off to death college in Park USA of the American Environment called US. Well, most of us. Me and the Philly crew. I'm stressed, I have stressers; am I wrong to be making this movie?
"Is that unnatural, Dan?"
"No, that's your life."
"Oh cool!" I smiled and laughed at my personal success in kicking life's ass. That's me! We gazed off in the distance. I said I was reallly tired, but I'd like to rewrite the story and the next one too.
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