Remembering A Myth From My Childhood

Seven decades have not diminished one myth I grew up with. It has a place of honor in my head that makes me smile. I still remember when I heard what would happen to my vision if I wacked my weinie!

I was undeterred and ready to go blind at eleven when I tossed caution aside in favor of pleasure – after some experimenting – and crossed the line between boyhood and manhood. I look back now with fondness at my innocence.

I never could fully understand the taboo against exploring my own body but would have preferred to be thrown in a cauldron of boiling oil than admit that. I joined my peers in mocking others accused of that crime of solo indulgence. It was a mean meme before there was such a thing.

My recollection of who came up with the myth is fuzzy, but I’ve narrowed it down to the church and parents universally who don’t want their offspring to ever have sex.

The End

Dance of the Hypocrites

they go through each day

doing the “Hully Gully

in their hypocritical way

they do the “Twist” with facts

holding reality at bay

hypocrites always dance

to the opposite side of sense

doing the “Hokey Pokey”

and a “Tango” on a fence

they go “Gangnam Style

when caught redhanded

they do the “Moonwalk”

down denier’s aisle

you can easily see

a hypocrite

doing the “Monkey

A “Macarena” line forms

when hypocrites gather

defying norms

They do the “Shimmy”

and the “Shake”

whatever it’ll take

to hide what’s true

recognizing the dances

that they do

is a good warning

for you

Bubble Troubles

we all live in a bubble

seeking verification

on cable TV

because we live in

an insecure society

there’s bubbles for the wealthy

and bubbles for the poor

there’s bubbles for races

and more

someday hopefully

there will not be

all these bubbles

with their troubles

in our country

Desert of Deceit

Burnt sands cover the liescape stretching between truth and deceit buried deep in a person’s mind. A desert of deceit. Unhindered by any convention, yet still possessing a conscience that sometimes asks questions about morality and sensuality.

Falsehoods, like scorpions and snakes, strike swiftly in the seething sands of a liar’s mind whose mission is to deceive. The liar’s soul, burnt by dwelling in the bronzed wasteland of duplicity, is shriveled and crispy.

There are those who dwell in this sandy hell by choice. Content to wander dunes of deceit. Content to live a lie. Content to vilify. Souls that were born bone dry. For these nomads in society, I have no pity.

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