D.B.Tarpley's Amazing Ass Blog-5-15

Greetings and salutations people and peoplettes,

Today’s blog entry will begin as most do – a piece of stream of conscious writing. Of course these days it’s more of a swollen prostate-driven speckle-spackle of conscious writing, the liquidity of my ideas being nowhere near as fluid as they once were. The impetus of life as embodied by both my apnea and my apathy has all but dried up my collective juices. My brain has become a vast wasteland, populated by dangerous rogue notions and the occasional waifish orphan kinder what needs a-savin. It’s just like ‘Waterworld’ only minus all that fine, quality acting.

Hold on a sec.

It’s just like ‘Waterworld.’

But enough about blueberry flavored oatmeal.

Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty.

I have a few projects in the works designed to make this website the overall beast of a destination it needs to be. I want you, the reader, to enjoy the journey every time you buy a ticket to bone town. I am about to open a short-story corner where any of my previously published short stories can be purchased for only 99 cents a pop. And I am going to include a poetry page where my best poems can be perused for free. This is going to take a few moments but I am already a good way into it so it won’t be much longer... couple of weeks tops.

Then in June I begin 6 months of intense writing and editing which should lead to the December release of ‘The Death of Death.’ If you haven’t picked up ‘The Death of…’ series then you don’t know what you are missing. This will be the third and final book in what has become a very satisfying series. It has exceeded my expectations in every way with each book surpassing the previous in both tone and complexity.

They make me happy.

What else makes me happy you ask?

Hmmmmm, that’s a good question. I enjoy a good game of chess. I like playing pool when I can and I wield a mean stick when it’s called for. I like swimming in pools. My mother used to think I was part fish. Of course that was back in the good old days of my youth when I also used to climb every tree I saw. I was the elusive Monkey Fish. I had webbed toes, big ears, and an enormous protruding purple buttock.

But enough about blueberry flavored spaghetti.

Sex is used to sell nearly everything we buy from breakfast cereal to tampons and if they made tampon flavored breakfast cereal it would be used to sell that as well.

Mmmmmmm… Period Blood Crunch.

As an artist I will personally do my best to never deliberately use sex to sell anything. It cheapens the nature of the work. And in a way, it also caters to a very common and dangerous social addiction. I am not speaking of so-called sex addicts who are more often than not simple selfish men who never learn that true love denotes servitude to another; nor am I speaking of porn addicts who live their life masturbating to some unattainable fantasy which even the images they peruse will never satiate… a blurry vision floating around their brain, never coming into complete and total focus.

No, I’m not talking about either of those.

I refer to the simple social construct which has developed over years of evolving sexual norms being rapid-fired from birth by an unconcerned marketing machine at an unprepared public who collectively learn what is hot and what is not through ever-present repetition.

Labia… clitorus… penis… testicles… these very erogenous zones are not in the mass-media lexicon and as such, simply do not exist when most people think of sex. The images of tight-clothed hips and dips and bare-chested muscularity which populate prime-time commercials are what we think of. It is what we desire because it is what we have been told to desire. The reality of it is, this unattainable standard not-withstanding, that there are a multitude of shapes, sizes, and flavors out there to enjoy. I mean Coca-Cola is nice… if you are trying to strip paint off sheet metal.

But enough about blueberry flavored condoms.

I have always wanted to be a bartender. Anyone who knows me might question that statement but it is true. The fact that I do not drink alcohol should not be as much an impediment as it may seem. I should say that I rarely drink alcohol and almost never as of late. I didn’t get drunk for the first time until my 37th birthday.

Here is a clip from that night:

https://youtu.be/HL7MyPj987Q

When I do drink I now drink ‘girl’ drinks like Amaretto Sours, Long Island Ice Teas, Mudslides, and Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

You know, stuff that makes hair grow out your butthole.

Another quandary when the well-informed consider my behind the bar future is my self-professed hatred of all things ‘people’. While there is some truth to that notion when you place a small span of wood between me and said people I get downright jovial. And there is no physics-related explanation for this which makes any sense. Neil deGrasse Tyson, who I bathe every other Thursday - (The story behind this is way too long to incorporate here. Just know that it involves a bottle of Jägermeister and an extremely competitive game of Connect Four… which I won.), has worked on the math behind this for years never having found an answer.

I get along with drunk people very well thank you.

Much like Jeff Bridges in ‘Against All Odds’ I won’t let James Woods get the girl, which is of course a metaphor for my obsession with all things William Shatner.

This is what my therapist tells me.

But enough about blueberry flavored arm pits.

I leave you now with a picture of me in my good old Monkey Fish days. This was me at a simpler time, just enjoying life… back when all marketing merely amounted to an RC cola and a Moon Pie on a hot summer day of hay-hauling.

Until next time keep it simple people, never convoluted, and may the stream of your consciousness flow as thick and as free as Peter North’s seminal fluid.

Never forget to have an amazing ass day.

You can choose not to have one.

Just don’t let it be because you forgot.

What?