A man is a GONDO-LORD, he carries his scent with pride, he RIDES HIGH on the gasoline-travelers and herds his women folk using dogs on a chain …
A man is a FESTIVE KING, with LIGHTNING EYES and hard scaly fists …
He does not CARE what the HUNKTON FOLK THINK.
He is MAN …
A man hurries through the tunnels of his broken mind, looking for fragments of happy day peace, somewhere near the perimeter of his foggy Sunday memories. He carries a baseball bat and walks tall through the underbrush. He seeks after AMERICIUM COCKTAILS and cancelled hooker princesses looking for action near GRINKEN TOWN. He endures the winter, only to find himself running from apes …
A man takes his time making love …
He caresses the woman’s boovula gently, as he massages her dryngian zone. He smokes cigarettes and drinks whiskey and rides his lover like some mad space cowboy, wildly shaking his fists a the unloving gods …
His tickler fancy is without compare, and those who target the weakness of his heart will feel the cold steel of his sword’s embrace …
HE’S A MAN … and he’s crazy.
He’ll walk 700 miles to seek revenge and soothe his intemperate heart, and afterwards he finds his hold fast somewhere deep in the Mountains of Droom. Sure, he gets tired and afraid, but he won’t show it – he’d rather just do more CRACK and get over that pain …
That’s a man too.
A MAN is a midnight pilot, taking his plane to the NORTH POLE. He skips the training and just jumps in, tearing up bushings and pistons and watching his copilot fret … but he’s not afraid …
A man is cursed to feel IRON PAIN and the fury of guilt and eternal shame. He is REAL …
A man can’t be stopped by flamethrowers or “bouncing Betty” mines …
A real man doesn’t use SOAP … fuck that.
Threaten a real man saying “we won’t cut your hair, or sell you products, or decorate your apartment”? – and a real man says “I was worried you were my black market hookup for 9 mm sub machine guns … what a relief …” – is how a man thinks.
A MAN? – will FIGHT against ANY ODDS …
He’ll load up his pack with C-4 and ammo and gasoline and dynamite and rocks …
He’ll come at you, wailing and screaming, hooping and hollering, just to see you GO MAD from angst and soul desolation …
He brings his A-GAME all the time, ready to fight hand-to-hand against any BRAZILIAN GRAPPLER or KOREAN street fighter. They all want to beat him, but they CAN’T … his eyes burn and his body aches and his bones are hard and his fingernails grow long …
A man is lost without some purpose and crumbles in chains …
He is dead behind walls and sorrow …
He MUST BE FREE …
That’s a man.
