poem: Promptly

vultures dress for Mardi Gras
constables loaded for bear
buck skin fringe down the long arm
tan suede leather
blond angel bathyculpian has edged weapons made of blue diamonds
she sings Amazon anthems sweet as Sirens
clipping heads
as needed
not too excessive 

Part of my new look....the fashion agenda

Last month I invented a new fashion item, the raccoon tail beret.  The hat is military surplus, and the tail,  hand stitched into it,  is genuine, bought off ebay, my El Dorado.  The city of gold, and not a sleazy, gas guzzling pimp car.

 The new item raises a conflict of semantics:  Is it acceptable, or is it offensive, to use the phrase 'coon-ass?'   It works perfect for my raccoon tail beret, and I was thinking of doing a sales campaign called, "Coon-ass."   Like, "I'm wearing the coon-ass look."  And it is in no way bigoted.   Here, and in all cases, 'coon-ass' refers to the type of hat Davy Crocket or Daniel Boon wore, to great effect, both for real and on television.  'Coon' is short for 'raccoon,' and has diddly squat to do with any person's appearance or social status.  Anyone at all should enjoy wearing one of my raccoon tail berets, and no one should shy from saying 'coon-ass.'  I'm coon-ass, and I look sharp.

Frankenstein Meets The Human Genome Project

Social progress, counting back the last arm load of centuries, might be compared to science fiction.  Suppose that science is a sort of Frankenstein movie, in which vaccines and weapons both get made up at once.  There is a geometric progression to the sciences, which is much like Son of Frankenstein, Frankenstein meets the Wolfman,   Dracula, Son of Dracula, Lon Cheny Also Meets Bela Lugosi Somewhere Else,  and then we find splinter groupings and mutations, all forming more sci-fi flicks.  Meantime, scientists work their wonders.

In hard science terms, there was popular bombast in the media over The Human Genome Project.  The cover story was that science was to discover a pattern in the DNA that was to enable quickie cures for all that ails ya'.   Ya' gots' a medical woe,  bearded wonders will find it on their big chart, and select a course of treatment, tailor made for you.   The Project gave me the willies because I tend to think it's also the stuff ethnic cleansing is best informed by, like a blue book for inferiority.   These sorts of things can go either way, in terms of helping you or killing you off.  But I haven't heard much about the Human Genome Project these last few passing years.  I wonder where it went.

Maybe the Project escaped.   Maybe it's devolved into hundreds of failed human experiments, and they managed to get out of their cages.  Some of them may have run for public office, and, heaven forbid, won.  Others are working on Wall Street.  Their flat heads shiny with hair gel, clever accessories strung from the bolts in their necks.  They are in a merger with Dracula and the Wolfman.   So much for better living.