~ Beans and Nothingness (Mack Racks His Brains)
god and the buddhas
are all sitting at the bar
inside Mack’s Café Américain,
an upscale nightclub and gambling den,
in casamackblanca,
baja california sur,
mexico
god is dressed in a white tuxedo and
black bow tie,
chain-smoking lucky strikes,
eating chips & refried beans,
and sipping a budweiser.
the three buddhas
are drinking virgin piña coladas
with little pink umbrellas.
when not speaking, god is
part-singing, part-humming, off-key:
“you must remember this,
a kiss is just a kiss,
a sigh is just a sigh,
the fundamental things apply,
as time goes by.”
“jesus! i’m tired,” sighs god.
“tired?’ ask the buddhas, looking at one another,
“how can god get tired?”
“in case you’ve not been observant,”
says god, pointing a smoldering lucky,
“it’s a big universe. i mean,
there’s a lot of stuff in it, you know,
stars, galaxies, black holes, anti-matter …”
“you know, you name it and it’s there,”
god adds with a chuckle.
“ … and a lot more empty space,”
says the first buddha, timidly.
“yeah, seems like there’s a lot more nothing
than there is something out there,”
adds the second, a little unsure of what he had said.
“ … being and nothingness, i mean,
it’s perfectly obvious that non-being
always appears with the limits of human expectations,”
says the third buddha.
“there you go again with the Sartre stuff,” says god,
“you’re gonna get us all confused.”
“hey, i’ve just negated that bowl of bean dip
and i expect that i’ll order some more,” god adds,
while nodding to the waiter at the far end of the bar
who was already bringing god
more bean dip and another can of Budweiser.
god pulls the tab and takes a long drink
“ah, beechwood aged, baby, beechwood aged,
now that’s authentic,” says god,
as he fires up another lucky strike.
“let us consider the waiter at this bar,”
says the third buddha, “he is just playing at being a waiter;
there is nothing there to surprise us.”
“yeah,” says the first buddha, “nothingness is the
internal negation which separates pure existence and identity,
and thus we are subject to playing our lives out
in a similar manner.”
“well,” says god, “Sartre had his head up his ass
like all those other left bank writers
who never actually had to work for a living.
just wait until our waiter closes out our bar tab
and we’ll see whether you’re surprised.”
the buddhas go silent.
“tomorrow,” god continues, “we’re gonna define
ourselves through the social categorization of our
formal identity as steelhead fishermen.”
“steelhead?” asks the second buddha.
“but we’re in baja california; there aren’t any
steelhead in the Sea of Cortez,” says the second buddha.
“talk about failed dreams of completion,”
adds the third buddha.
“i was misinformed,” laughs god,
impersonating Bogart
~ Beans and Nothingness (Mack Racks His Brains)
god and the buddhas
are all sitting at the bar
inside Mack’s Café Américain,
an upscale nightclub and gambling den,
in casamackblanca,
baja california sur,
mexico
god is dressed in a white tuxedo and
black bow tie,
chain-smoking lucky strikes,
eating chips & refried beans,
and sipping a budweiser.
the three buddhas
are drinking virgin piña coladas
with little pink umbrellas.
when not speaking, god is
part-singing, part-humming, off-key:
“you must remember this,
a kiss is just a kiss,
a sigh is just a sigh,
the fundamental things apply,
as time goes by.”
“jesus! i’m tired,” sighs god.
“tired?’ ask the buddhas, looking at one another,
“how can god get tired?”
“in case you’ve not been observant,”
says god, pointing a smoldering lucky,
“it’s a big universe. i mean,
there’s a lot of stuff in it, you know,
stars, galaxies, black holes, anti-matter …”
“you know, you name it and it’s there,”
god adds with a chuckle.
“ … and a lot more empty space,”
says the first buddha, timidly.
“yeah, seems like there’s a lot more nothing
than there is something out there,”
adds the second, a little unsure of what he had said.
“ … being and nothingness, i mean,
it’s perfectly obvious that non-being
always appears with the limits of human expectations,”
says the third buddha.
“there you go again with the Sartre stuff,” says god,
“you’re gonna get us all confused.”
“hey, i’ve just negated that bowl of bean dip
and i expect that i’ll order some more,” god adds,
while nodding to the waiter at the far end of the bar
who was already bringing god
more bean dip and another can of Budweiser.
god pulls the tab and takes a long drink
“ah, beechwood aged, baby, beechwood aged,
now that’s authentic,” says god,
as he fires up another lucky strike.
“let us consider the waiter at this bar,”
says the third buddha, “he is just playing at being a waiter;
there is nothing there to surprise us.”
“yeah,” says the first buddha, “nothingness is the
internal negation which separates pure existence and identity,
and thus we are subject to playing our lives out
in a similar manner.”
“well,” says god, “Sartre had his head up his ass
like all those other left bank writers
who never actually had to work for a living.
just wait until our waiter closes out our bar tab
and we’ll see whether you’re surprised.”
the buddhas go silent.
“tomorrow,” god continues, “we’re gonna define
ourselves through the social categorization of our
formal identity as steelhead fishermen.”
“steelhead?” asks the second buddha.
“but we’re in baja california; there aren’t any
steelhead in the Sea of Cortez,” says the second buddha.
“talk about failed dreams of completion,”
adds the third buddha.
“i was misinformed,” laughs god,
impersonating Bogart