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Checking out

February 19, 2013

Last night, abed, half sleeping, half dreaming, I envisioned myself in surgery for the removal of the prostate, the old glad gland. The one we don’t talk about till it squeezes our urethra and the piss out of us, so to speak.

Or from which we squeeze the last drops of our manhood.

So be it.

Dying Gaul

No Dying Gaul am I, nor Dying Pole, for the moment.

Envisioned myself in the OR, on the cutting board, and the proper cuts were made, doctor and robot dancing infallibly like Ginger and Fred around the pivot, when, when, when … I simply did not awake.

Oh! That’s what it’s like, is it, that “distinguished thing”?

Or extinguished thing?

And I was glad, I think (I think now, I think consciously), to lay the burden down.

At the same time, it would be nice, don’t you think so, to have a monument like the one above … and be remembered for eons (rather than 15 minutes)?

To be membered, ah yes, our glad earthly lot. Then dismembered, could be. Then remembered.

So much for the haughty gland, then! We can do without it!

One Comment
  1. Avocado Zeck permalink

    I will always remember your prostate exactly as punctured/pictured above.

    Other than that happy image, I am thrilled that you are ready for anything. And something or anything is what you will get, brother. Please take pictures of the little fellow before they waste can it; our family photo library is in need.


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