If you want to make God laugh....

Tell him or her or whatever that you are content. And then you get the double-whammy, yup.

I read that somewhere on the internets yesterday.....

This is in memoriam for one of the best friends I have ever had. It is a re-post, but was written for him at the time, and was about being far away and missing his company.

Nights in the Saline Puppy

The Saline Puppy was a counter-culture haven
in the age of Narcissus, home to the craven.
First bar with genuine barn-board panels
And Tiffany lamps and teevee with ten channels.
There we drank the nights away
and we found so MUCH to say...

And plaid-shirted students dressed in farmer-johnny jeans
Solved the world's weighty problems while philosophers dreamed.
Rowdies with a buzz on tossed down their drinks
maintaining nothing mattered;
they were too burned out to think
And their eyes undressed each girl
in the crowd's unending swirl.

The nectar of the gods, came in pitchers---(dark and light)
Served by liberated ladies, bitter girls who'd bite
with a word or action. They'd no self trust,
Repressed sexuality, believed life was a bust.
Phoebe Snow sang 'No Regrets'.
and we took what we could get.

What wouldn't I give for another round
in that smoky room, watching the sights;
lost in discussion and your laugh would sound
when the talk became raucous
round about midnight.

And Robbie, Carl and Terry would join us now and then.
And the terms coined (love muscle?) Terry'd goose the men.
And the muscle bound bouncers, self-labelled Jocks
chatted with the husband-hunters--Liberation talk.
And we like to be alone,
but can't seem to stay at home..

Sitting at the bar with question-mark shaped posture,
menopausal salesmen debated on the cost or
better said 'investment' of one long-drink
for the young thing beside him, who ignored lewd wink.
And they both went home alone,
disappointed, hearts of stone.

Like the mailmen of old, we showed up in rain and sleet
And we quickly found a place where the heater warmed our feet.
And we analysed and we criticised.
And although the hours flew, we never grew too wise....
It was an uncertain time.
Done and gone with, but that's fine...

What wouldn't I give for another round,
to see how we and the world may have changed.
Or maybe to laugh and discuss and expound;
and to question our fates, so opaque and so strange.

The term 'Saline Puppy' was my late friend's transcription for 'Salty Dog', and it was a real place. And when our cinema business was going down the tubes, we would go there practically every evening and commiserate, and try to figure out what was coming next. We didn't own it, only worked there, but it was all ennervating.

We were very close friends, and when I wrote it, I had been in Austria a year or so, and felt homesick for his company, his humour, and his 'being there', and I was always there for him as well. He was a miserable correspondent.

I would call him on St. Patrick's Day, and we would laugh about a million things, and there was much warmth, and re-connecting was never an issue. There was always a bond there. Friendship I wish everyone could have once in their lives.

Tonight I learned that he has been dead for a few years now. (I kept wondering why he didn't answer the phone... being an idjit.) Last I heard, he was sad, and never laughed any more. Word is... he committed suicide.

Y'know... you carry them in your heart and mind, and all is well... till you find they left the planet, and you are never gonna commiserate about the bad things, or celebrate the good things with them ever again. And all I can think right now is: 'That really SUCKS, John. Not even a postcard? Not even a call to ask for help? What the fuck-hell were you thinking, hey...'

Sorry, fresh grief here of the worst sort there can be. Only two hours old.

But then I think... be at peace, wherever you are, John R. And watch out for my Mom... she still thinks you're the 'black Santa Claus'.

And are you getting your belly-laugh now, God? Good ploy.