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Sun Nov 30, 2003 2:52 am |
From: 
Sarah Moore <sarahmoore@...>Date: Sun Nov 30, 2003 3:52 am Subject: to noby kabeer ramarshi celtic devagunna jukka ishaisha devana and all - part 4 Part 4. The walrus in the corner still doesn’t look well. He is still spluttering alliterative insults, interpersed with craven crawling compliments, in a startling display of devaluation-idealisation behaviour previously only witnessed by Dr Sarah in such panoramic splendour by her worst-case borderline personality disorder patients. His wounds are clearly still troubling him she decides, and not enough beer yet has yet been administered to anaethetise his restless troubled ego, and crystallise his clearly jammed flight-fight reponse circuitry. She gives him a little pat and a stroke behind the ears, knowing full well that the natural history of such neurosis is that he could well whirl around and attack her, transferring his bitter legacy of recurrent defeat onto the well-intentioned helper. She decides caution is the better part of valour and wanders back over to the bar to sit beside Celtic and Ramarshi, who are in quite cheerful mood by this point of the evening, and swop yarns of constellationing and the New Man/woman. Devagunna meanwhile has had his Tourettic burst. Life spared by Ramarshi momentarily at least, thanks to rapid diagnostic intervention by his friends in the bar, he appears quite normal for a minute and greets us all calmly, as he too gulps down a beer. Then suddenly it takes over again… He starts to writhe on his seat. Formidablly filthy fuck fantasies felicitously fill his forebrain. He begins to hallucinate and regails his astounded audience with a free association soliloquy of refined yet quite grotesque sadistic/masochistic proportions. Amid lurid details of double-headed dildos and groaning twisting bodies united in perverse combinations, the heads of our heroes are quite spinning, and they can almost but not quite visualise the fantastic scenario that flashes upon his over heated brain-pan. These guys know and love Devagunna from old, and are well aware that a mercy-fuck would only inflame the situation, so they just sit tight and hold his hand as he sways and mutters his way through the hallucinatory experience. Yes, yes, far too much LSD in the old days, and that coupled with the disinhibition of his Tourettes, well, what can one do but offer a sympathetic ear and a well-timed hug (but not however in the middle of the delirium as that would be to court at the very least an assault on one’s clothed status if not one’s remnants of dignity (not that anyone in this particular group is too concerned about this, our lordly friend Ramarshi excepted). Into the room walks another beautiful and feisty woman. This bar is getting quite packed with them now. She holds by her hand a little child of obviously Tibetan heritage. His eyes are brown, and wise beyond their years. Everyone makes namaste to this obvious incarnation of high lama and he perches on a bar stool and gravely sips a soda, whilst his mother engages in light banter and teasing repartee, interspersed with the occasional cutting comment, with her friends and her favourite cross seas jousting partner, Mr Ramarshi the constellation samurai. |
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| The door opens and another lovely apparation swans into the room. No beer for her obviously, this is a lady of refined taste. Her clothes are a kaleidoscope of colour, beautiful robes of some misty material whose hue shimmers and changes with the light and with her mood. She wears a jewelled mask and it is obvious she is a foreigner. The men in the bar all start panting with lust, her every move seductive and fraught with sexual suspense, her voice a throaty purr, her body magnificent, her tastes refined and her manners – perfect. She of course is Ishmael, and is a new and very mysterious arrival. Only time will tell whether she can remain in this bar, but her arrival has aroused such interest (and other things) that it is sure she will muster considerable interest however long she stays. |
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The door bangs open again. Gee, its getting crowded in here, the usual glistening guru-types are getting squashed into the corner as Ka-Beers friends, nemesi and collaborators gather for this night of fun. A pale knight on a white horse rides into the bar. He has a clear halo and radiates earnest spirituality. At the very sight, Devagunna starts sputtering, and is about to lurch from his seat to strangle the new comer. Another bloody enlightened being he growls. I’ve just about fucking had enough of them. I’ll suppose he’ll start spewing his brand of enlightenment junk in a second, and I’ll be forced to throw up in his face. If I had a penny for every bloody enlightened arsehole I’d met (not to mention conquered) I’d be too rich to have to come to this bar for a drink from friends, I’d bloody well have my own brewery. The knight, Jukkaji, does indeed alight from his horse, and eyes fixed on the beautiful maiden, Ishmael, strides to her side, declaring his holy love and his spiritual status as a trophy for her delictation. There is partial consternation in the bar. Some are indeed impressed by the halo, others having seen this particular trick too many times before, either wait for the burnishing effect or actively try to find the hidden source of light and expose him as the usual fraudster. His ego is clearly well insulated against such juvenile attempts at dehorsement, and right now his mind is on women, wine and song – preferably Finnish ballads, because it is from this lovely and luminously mysterious land that he too hails. Suddenly another commotion. Ka-Beer flings down a tea-towel. “That’s it, I’m off, he rages. Pour your own bloody beers. I’m going home for a Beks and a good lie-down”. And with this he marches out of the tavern. The walrus sighs. ‘my best man is gone for now” he says. “But he’ll be back, he always comes back. He loves me right. Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he?…..” To be continued. Maybe…. Love and kisses to all Sarah (from australia, but not the Sarah from Western Australia (gee this is getting confusing). Maybe I just call myself Sarahji or Dr Sarah as my friends and patients do. |
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