December 24, 2003

  • Is Christmas dying? 
    Elves     laid off…
    ‘Mr. Christmas’     pulls plug on light display…

      

    Let
    me state unequivocally, I don’t believe there exists a unique
    energy-entity with its own volition called Santa Claus, even though the
    metaphor of Santa bringing children gifts is the precise recapitulation
    of the Wise Men bringing the Christ-babe gifts.  And, in that
    sense, all Christmas gift-givers are Wise Men and all receivers
    Babes-in-Toyland.  As Col Frank Slade (Al Pacino) exclaims so often in
    Scent of a Woman (1992): "hoo-ha"

     

    But
    I do believe in Faeries and in realms of the unexperienced (though
    never unimaginable).  And I’ve had visions of time spent on worlds
    of unmitigated sunlight amidst alien civilizations that perished kalpas
    ago.  And life seems ever a startling vagabondage as
    mosaically tapestried with surprises as the pattern of craters on the
    moon.  And thus I find myself once again...

    Caught up in the cosmic stream

    Where children’s imaginations play,

    And comic book characters dream,

    And visions converge into curvatures

    To begin each day anew.

     

    Here Dorothy soars high over her rainbow.

    And E.T. flies straight through the moon.

    And the sun rises each day as an alien orb

    While the dish elopes with the spoon.

     

    And the baby cries 'cause the spoon’s gone

    And finds succor in sucking instead,

    As mommy-genius devotes her entire life

    perfecting Mr. Potato’s head.

     

    And the Green Lantern meets up with Diogenes

    As he’s looking for one honest man.

    And Tinkerbell teases poor Capt. Hook

    by acting like a slut who is damned.

     

    And sailors wafting aimless on odysseys

    Are taken captive by Sirens at sea.

    And Lost Worlds are adrift beyond remorse

    As they’re embraced by eternity.

     

    Here I lay my head down gently

    Upon a sacrificial stone in a ruin

    And see virgins led to deflowering beds

    For the Hero who will join the gods soon.

     

    And the raised sword lusters brightly in sunlight

    Just before the swift strike on that stone.

    And the virgins deflowered and laying in bed

    Have finally learned how to moan.

     

    And the little dog laughs to see such a sight!

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