Number Two

GETTING OFF

I'm going to get off of my roof
I'm not up here because I'm aloof
Helicopters will come
Dangling ropes can be fun
I look forward to leaving this roof.

Soon I'll have ice cold water to drink
Not the brown stuff downstairs in the sink
It will be fresh and clear
I might even have beer
Soon cold water is what I will drink.

I look forward to getting to eat
Something filling, followed by something sweet
Chew and swallow, swallow chew
I know just what to do
I look forward to the next time I eat.

If a big flood wiped out Malibu
How long would it take for rescue?
Would they get me much quicker
If I was whiter and richer?
I'll leave that question's answer to you
Right now I just want off of this roof.

--Mark Trail

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Let us speak for a moment about online map services. Oh, you know them. We’ve all tried them. We’ve all printed out the directions with their nearly infinite number of twists and turns, including separate “turns” and mileage amounts for on-ramps and off-ramps. We’ve all placed them on the seat next to us and stolen quick peeks in traffic, hoping to not start a major pileup while we try to decipher exactly what is meant by BEAR LEFT ON STATE RD. 10 .01 Miles.

I’ve had several adventures with online maps in recent years, most of them frustrating. I usually do pretty well until I get near my destination, then everything—to use the British expression—goes all pear-shaped. I then spend the next expanse of time wandering around some foreign metropolitan area and wondering why I continue to use the damn online maps.

The problem, to me, is in the settings available to the dupe when he or she is mapping out his or her trip. One can choose from two options currently, shortest or quickest. I would like to propose a third choice: Most Sensible. Until they take up this modest proposal, I’m going to revert to the old fashioned method of using a real map. Really.

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WHEN IN TAO-BT, TAKE THE NO-WAY OUT

An unclaimed man of lost-and-found
Looked down to find his hand
Was a Good Samaritan's suitcase handle
Shinkichi Takahashi looked down
And found his feet had become
The Tokaido railway
Now we've all got a ticket
For the first train to run
When time runs out

Meanwhile, on the other foot,
The shoe was wearing it
While waiting for it to drop
That shoe was our last hope
And time's last stop

There's a French cartoon cat
That can read my prayer book
Better than I (By the way,
No one knows why she--
No, not the cat--started it all
When she swallowed a fly
Let the figure of infinity
Figure it out)

If I swallowed that cat
Would I drink the milk
Of heaven from a bowl?
Would I purr, like her,
The Unpronounceable Name?
(Just asking; let's not be late
For the train)

In a still small voice or
In a whirlwind on the Mount
The fire signs in the language of the deaf
It has a million seeing-eye hands,
Each with an eye in its palm
This is called "the angel of the ordinary"
As familiar as my imagination's pet
That burning cat-in-the-bush
Who reads my prayer book
Purrs the Unpronounceable Name
And is not consumed (or not yet)

The Good Samaritan spares his brother
But sacrifices on a dime
The Tokaido railway waits for no one
Now's the time to wear
The shoes that time forgot
And to arrive walking backwards
Along the edge of the sword
That cut the Gordian Knot

Chuang, that old vagabond of space,
Played with Great Nature's fire
And never got burned
Like a child he put his hand
In the Hand of Naught
The ten-thousand trains
Can all be named
Which is why he taught:

The Tao that can be named is Tao-bt
When in Tao-bt, do as the Tao-bters do,
And take the No-Way out.

--Robert G. Margolis

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THE STORY OF BEER

Quite by accident, one day a long time ago, a simple farmer created a new beverage. His wife, who was called Edith, asked him what he would call it. “Beer,” he said, for no particular reason.

Proud of his invention, he gave free samples to his neighbors, and soon word of this “beer” of his spread across the land. Eventually, word got as far as the King, who decided that he’d like to try this marvelous new beverage. And so, the farmer was summoned to the castle, and he went, bringing with him only his wife and his lone barrel of foamy goodness.

Once in front of the King, he pulled a draught for His Royal Majesty. The King tasted the beer and pronounced it “good.” “In fact,” he said, “I like it so much that I command you to leave your entire supply with me.”

The farmer refused.

The King, being no stranger to ultimatums, repeated his demand. The farmer, flustered, begged the King for some alternative to this most drastic command.

“Fine,” the King said and cast his eye on the farmer’s toothsome consort. “You can either leave me your beer or leave me your wife.”

The moral of the story? It’s simple. You can’t have your keg and Edith, too.

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(From the files, to the tune of "Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite")

For the benefit of Beatles fans,
Confused by rumors while they scan
"The Love You Make,"
I'll run across the rumors all
Starting with the death of Paul
For their sake,
With the backwards tapes
And license plates
And all the secret messages about drugs.
And, by jingo, not much Ringo or much George.

According to the rumor mill
Paul was in a fatal spill
In sixty-six.
A man named Bill then took his place.
They changed his voice; they changed his face.
What a fix!
And this caused John
To write a song
That when played backwards
Told us Paul is dead.
"I buried Paul, I buried Paul, I buried Paul."

"Now, Lucy stood for LSD,"
Said Sgt. Pepper acidly,
Or so I'm told.
And here's a test for you to pass:
Do you feel when smoking grass
Rubber-souled?
And you know the Yellow Submarine
Is just a kind of pill to bring you down.
And, of course, Henry the Horse stands for Heroin!

So there you have my Beatles song,
I hope I didn't keep you long
From anything.
The band broke up in seventy.
(Watch it go in "Let It Be.")
O! Death, thy sting!
Some people say
It's Yoko's fault,
But others say it's Linda's dad
Instead.
But I say, what the hey! forgive and forget!