Sinister Mulligan Stew

“Man suffers only because he takes seriously

what the gods made for fun.” – Alan Watts.

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“Time spent with cats is never wasted.”

– Sigmund Freud

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Why do we love to administer into each others purview

what we claim to be incontrovertible evidence

we have amassed from our deepest most intimately

undergone undertakings that prove every motive,

including those mean silent buggers about whose existence

we hadn’t a clue (that is, Dr. Freud, until we met you)

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inventively steaming up toxically harrowing mixes

of Sinister Mulligan Stew we’re force-fed from the outset,

against which we have no defense, so fastidiously

and insidiously is it hell-bent on vengeance, replenishing

all of the menaced and menacing slew of effects

that have passed both in public and private as “you.”

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I’ll tell you why: it’s fun.

Fun is what we can’t not have.

Preferably lots.

(“Doctor Freud? Mr. Watts.”)

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What’s the best way to take on a conundrum? Divinities

flare when you dare to come up with new methods

to scare that they wouldn’t dare, or when you aren’t scared

when They traumatize. But you learn their trick, how

to catalyze anyone near – ignite what incites their worst fear

(and in private excites them) – whatever thing threatens

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what you call “the best of me”: that thing you learn is a joke,

not a destiny. Sob becomes laugh. No other parts in the heart

of the Spirit’s Anatomy get this job done, not by half.

Alan Watts measured and weighed up the sum of what

Makes this Methuselah run: having a shit load of fun.

How many of you knew that too?

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Seven bazillion and one?

You saw it coming: None.

Come, overjoyed! - to the void!

(“Alan Watts? Sigmund Freud.”).

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