Penrod59: Humanist Without Limits

The child runs deep in everything.

------- Ferdydurke, Witold Gombrowicz



I. Like Crumbs of a Madeleine in a Tea-Cup


My vocation allows me to experience all types of people
from all parts of the world. This is a wonderful thing. I am
supplied with a never-ending variety of human types.

Today I helped a Mother and her daughter. It stood out
because the daughter was mentally retarded. Rarely do
parents of the mentally disabled bring their afflicted children
to Auto Shops. Knowing they could be in for a long wait, etc...

The lady needed a tire and as I gave the reasons she told her
daughter, quite sternly, to "stay inside and eat her potato chips
slowly" as she, the mother, went outside to smoke a cigarette.
Pity welled up in me for the poor retarded girl. She was so kind
and cruelly abandoned in a room full of people who felt uncomfortable
just looking at her. This event reminded me of the brave comment
Penrod59 made the night before. A comment he was unjustly
condemned for by a mob of moral cretins. As crumbs of a
Madeleine in a tea-cup reminded the mature Proust of his
youth, I was, also, reminded of the injustice past.


II. Moral People and Moralists


A moral person is one who does the right thing without
fanfare and lets deeds do the talking. He or she lives
life in an exemplary manner so anyone can draw valuable
lessons from the manner of their acts.

A moralist is one who, instead of reflecting on his or her
own deeds, spends all of their time worrying about what others
do and spend a great deal of time talking about it-With great fanfare.
They are the leaders of the witch hunt who act first and think
later. They rile up a gullible mob and ignite the torches of
indignation. Always unconsciously succumbing to their
wounded vanity.

BDRadical was the leader of the torch bearing mob of
Moralists--Various, et al........They were ready to burn the
unjustly accused Penrod59.


III. Humanism Without Limits


It is easy to appease the masses by wishing to please
another human. It is easy playing to the mob and modifying
one's desire for another's pleasure within acceptable boun-
daries.

Penrod's humanism courageously leaps beyond these
boundaries--albeit beyond good and evil---and postulates
that even a mentally retarded young lady of 13 in Sweden--
or any other country for that matter-- deserves pleasure.

Oh! But the torch carrying witch burners recoil in horror!
Ejaculating off scores of e-mails to incite everyone! Without
thought they rush to condemn.

Children are sexual beings. All psychologists and scientists
who study the cognitive development of infants agree childhood
is a time of great sexual experience. Mentally Retarded children
have a limited lifespan. Their age expectancy is between 30-40.
So, logistically, Penrod59 is justified in wanting to sexually
please a mentally retarded girl of 13.

He is also justified because the lack of cognitive development in
retarded children makes them hyper-sexual. Ask anyone who has
taught retarded children or who has worked for the Special Olympics.
It is a fact. Proven by scientific studies too prolific to mention and by
the experience of people in fields caring for the mentally retarded.

Lastly, think a bit about the life of a mentally retarded person.
How many times do they have an opportunity to experience intimacy
with another human? At least Penrod59 admits he'd be willing to give
a mentally retarded girl a pleasurable experience she'd likely, in
the normal course of her life, never receive. I commend Penrod59's
selflessness. His unflinching humanism cares little about the obloquy
of a witch hunting mob of Moralists. Let them fire the torches of their
ignorant indignation. Which, again, is only their wounded vanity in the
face of something so magnanimous it leaves them dumbfounded.

I Shit My Spine Today and the Dragon Has Left Me

I began to feel a massive uncoiling from the base of my neck
to the beginning of my crack. Concerned and with a pinched
look on my face, I wondered what kind of seizure I was enduring.
Suddenly my bowels cramped up and I ran for the stool.
Sweat was pouring from me. Seated I steeled myself for the storm.
It wasn't long before shit poured out of me like life itself.
My back felt empty. My head was so light it ached from lack
of sensation. I called my girlfriend into the bathroom
to dab my forehead with a cold rag. She obeyed.
As her eyes met mine she sighed and said, "The Dragon
has left you. There is no fire in your eyes." I was too spent
and sick to ask any questions. My silence induced her to explain,
"We are all born with a Dragon coiled in our spine. Yours has
gone."
I shit my spine today. The fire has gone. I am now a cold
invertebrate. Where is my Dragon?

Eyes Wake

Tidal erosion
eddies us
to slumber

Kaleidal motion
jetties up
every wonder

Aswim against 
the dark swell
of night's veil.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



I never felt taller. The door opened so easily. Talking on a mobile phone
as the artificial breeze parted my golden locks. Yes, it was me, talking loudly,
laughing and casting an audible shadow over the entire Music Section. A
lady told me I was yelling. How could a giant know? Everything seemed
smaller in scale.
Still as tall, I clicked the phone off and continued my search. Yes, it was me,
the ass unaware of himself.

Ex Nihilo

Hailing doxies down sidewalks,
bookend of city's bad infinity

Love, 
like hidden stars
above boulevards'
sterile fire,
swells

Blood spills dark
from starless
heaven's heart 

Women drink
the petrol and
carbon monoxide
of passing cars

Chemical destinies
poisonous and akin
to death by
asphyxiation,
but inviting as
the music and scents
of faraway banquets.