Post by goldenmyst on Apr 16, 2019 21:52:30 GMT -6
Cosmic Train Ride
“May I have the seat next to you on the cosmic train? You look like a sane person and I could use some sane conversation in my state of mystic madness,” I say.
She replies, “Shall we pray to the cosmic Godhead for our safe and happy passage through time and space, all the time.”
My answer, “I wish you bountiful orgasmic bliss and sensual abandon and transcendent states of total liberation from the Karmic wheel.”
She grabs my hand between hers and laughs. “Your sexual vibes are a bit touchy-feely for us being strangers but most welcome. A climax at the end of a hard day at work makes my salary portion allocated to that sex toy money well spent.”
I return her hand grip and say, “I wish you magical sunsets in the Fellaheen desert. I can imagine what it would be like to pick you up as my hitchhiker. We’d take Ginsberg’s Green car, and watch the road unfold in the psychedelic land. Kerouac’s peripatetic journeys would pale in comparison to our Zen journey.”
She fluffs her hair with a shake of her head. “How did you know I love beat literature?”
“When you spoke of your sexual release at the end of your day I knew you were a closet sensualist. The office may be your bread and butter but the bedroom is where you blossom.”
“If only there were more to my life than my day job and private thrills at night.”
I reply, “When I save up enough of my crazy check we’ll take route 66 from Chicago to L.A. It doesn’t bother you that my income is for being mad?”
“Not at all, let’s take the road as far as it goes. We’ll talk existentialism and postmodernism and even Forrest Gumpism as our car speeds through the darkened American phantasmagoria.”
“Each bump will jolt our awareness. By the time we reach the Pacific all would be clear.”
She says, “Clarity is what this world lacks. If only more people would be a passenger for a driver like you there would be no problems in the world.”
I reply, “This train is a place for the catalyst to be set in motion. The gold dust in your eyes tells me that your day job is only a dream. The reality is having a partner in your nightly quest for the purpose of pleasure.”
She says, “Sensual bliss is a purpose by itself. It needs no more reason to exist.”
“Then let us add to each other’s sensual bounty by sharing the treasure beneath the sheets.”
She sighs. “How do I know you’re not a psycho?”
I reply, “The measure of my character is in the poetry of my speech. You need no more confirmation that I am not a common lecher.”
“You could be a silver-tongued devil.”
“A devil would resort to cruder yet more effective means if my object were simply to bed you.”
“Well, this conversation has been most salubrious. You let my Bohemian soul out to play. But I mostly go to sleep now. Let’s exchange phone numbers and enjoy each other’s company when words turn to moans. This is as far down the road I can go. Is it enough?”
“We’ll take that highway all the way to a California freedom where your Malibu of the heart becomes my love surfer’s paradise.”
“May I have the seat next to you on the cosmic train? You look like a sane person and I could use some sane conversation in my state of mystic madness,” I say.
She replies, “Shall we pray to the cosmic Godhead for our safe and happy passage through time and space, all the time.”
My answer, “I wish you bountiful orgasmic bliss and sensual abandon and transcendent states of total liberation from the Karmic wheel.”
She grabs my hand between hers and laughs. “Your sexual vibes are a bit touchy-feely for us being strangers but most welcome. A climax at the end of a hard day at work makes my salary portion allocated to that sex toy money well spent.”
I return her hand grip and say, “I wish you magical sunsets in the Fellaheen desert. I can imagine what it would be like to pick you up as my hitchhiker. We’d take Ginsberg’s Green car, and watch the road unfold in the psychedelic land. Kerouac’s peripatetic journeys would pale in comparison to our Zen journey.”
She fluffs her hair with a shake of her head. “How did you know I love beat literature?”
“When you spoke of your sexual release at the end of your day I knew you were a closet sensualist. The office may be your bread and butter but the bedroom is where you blossom.”
“If only there were more to my life than my day job and private thrills at night.”
I reply, “When I save up enough of my crazy check we’ll take route 66 from Chicago to L.A. It doesn’t bother you that my income is for being mad?”
“Not at all, let’s take the road as far as it goes. We’ll talk existentialism and postmodernism and even Forrest Gumpism as our car speeds through the darkened American phantasmagoria.”
“Each bump will jolt our awareness. By the time we reach the Pacific all would be clear.”
She says, “Clarity is what this world lacks. If only more people would be a passenger for a driver like you there would be no problems in the world.”
I reply, “This train is a place for the catalyst to be set in motion. The gold dust in your eyes tells me that your day job is only a dream. The reality is having a partner in your nightly quest for the purpose of pleasure.”
She says, “Sensual bliss is a purpose by itself. It needs no more reason to exist.”
“Then let us add to each other’s sensual bounty by sharing the treasure beneath the sheets.”
She sighs. “How do I know you’re not a psycho?”
I reply, “The measure of my character is in the poetry of my speech. You need no more confirmation that I am not a common lecher.”
“You could be a silver-tongued devil.”
“A devil would resort to cruder yet more effective means if my object were simply to bed you.”
“Well, this conversation has been most salubrious. You let my Bohemian soul out to play. But I mostly go to sleep now. Let’s exchange phone numbers and enjoy each other’s company when words turn to moans. This is as far down the road I can go. Is it enough?”
“We’ll take that highway all the way to a California freedom where your Malibu of the heart becomes my love surfer’s paradise.”
