copyright © 2003 Ed Malin

"Thanks, Gator"

by Ed Malin


Today I broke a piece of matzah in half and I ended up with a chunk shaped like Minnesota. It was a simple, beautiful act. In the perforations and craters I saw 10,000 lakes, all reflecting the dance of sun and moon. At times like this, when I see if not infinity at least massive potential, there is one man I have to thank.

The man is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, also known as "Gator".

To him, then, I propose a toast. For without his nascent romanticism, the earth would be a ball of waste hurtling so fast through the vacuum of space that we would actually feel the cold, instead of the warmth that is within.

Have you ever hurled at a keg party?

You don’t have to puke, ralph or upchuck, when you can "set yourself free".

demonstrates the motion, which is the same

How I feel is more important than objective reporting of the facts. And that’s the way it’s always been whether you say it or not, so I’m going to say it. Kill me if you have to. I’ll only uncoil my kundalini and bounce.

I hear you think my woman is a three hundred pound cow with crooked teeth, bad breath and–worst of all–an 80s hairstyle. To your eyes perhaps. To me she is a beach nymph, known to ride buck naked on dolphins in the wee hours. And her discharges are the nectar of the gods. Words become destroyed in the effort of applying them to her. They reach their melting point and whiff away. Yea, the very words you throw turn back and eat themselves!

You think that’s good, let’s examine the life of Gator himself. He had a lot of times on his hands. With all that writing he probably didn’t get a lot of love so he had a lot of hands on himself. Praise self sufficiency. How touching.

But then at age 57 he married the woman who was the mother of his four children. What a player! You think? Which is better, having someone tell you they love you but not mean it? Or having someone love you for years and years and then give you what you already had all along without words? I’ll take the latter.

Whenever my world looks as dank as the toilet in Madison Square Garden after a Rangers game, I remember how it feels to feel.

And for that, for everything, thanks, Gator.


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