Dusame in the Mirror - A Story Poem of Medusa's Cousin by Ssal Nogard the Poet

Dusame in the Mirror is about a lady who sits perpetually at a vanity in the middle of nowhere and looks into her mirror. That’s why the story begins

In a land deep of reflection
Actually, when she sits too long, she gets leg cramps, ergo:
There sits a maiden, sometimes standing 

She cannot look anywhere else (even when she is standing up stretching) but can see the reflection of what is going on around her through the mirror. Seeing everyone else have fun, she would like to as well but cannot. She’s stuck to her mirror or else. Or else what?

The key is the second part, delineated by asterisks and squigglies, which I love so to use as a section break: *~~*~*~*~*~*~ (Actually, I used to only use asterisks but upon hitting the carriage return, Microsoft Word kept automatically formatting the asterisks into a page-wide like of square dots, very irritating I’m sure you agree.)

The only famous Gorgon in mythology (that I know of) is Medusa. Hence the “immortal hair” in

Her sisters two at least as fair
Gorgons both: the immortal hair

Recall that although Medusa was so ugly that the sight of her would turn you to stone, although she once was, according to some versions that have cropped up through the millennia, a ravishingly beautiful maiden.

"In a late version of the Medusa myth, related by the Roman poet Ovid(Metamorphoses 4.770), Medusa was originally a ravishingly beautiful maiden, "the jealous aspiration of many suitors," but when she was caught being raped by the "Lord of the Sea" Poseidon in Athena's temple, the enraged Athena transformed Medusa's beautiful hair to serpents and made her face so terrible to behold that the mere sight of it would turn onlookers to stone. In Ovid's telling, Perseus describes Medusa's punishment by Minerva (Athena) as just and well earned." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medusa For more about Gorgons: For more about Gorgons, click here.

Yeah, that’s pretty fu**** up but it’s you guys telling these idiot stories, lol. Note that her two sisters are gorgons with immortal hair. Medusa is the only one of her sisters who is mortal, and thus killable by Perseus. (Recall that Athena gave Perseus a magic shield that doubled as a reflecting mirror so he could behead Medusa. Yeah, women don’t get ahead because they work against each other. What did Medusa ever do to Athena anyway?)

Some more recent versions have Medusa changing with the darkness.

And when the sun spit shriveled rays,
Her hair turned in a vastly maze
of dark and emerald ablaze
that met none of her awesome gaze--
       chimera called Dusame. 

I like this version better because it gives her a break from always being ugly.

If you rotate the letters in her name (I forget the word for that little trick), Medusa becomes Edusam, Dusame, Usamed, Samedu, and Amedus. Edusam sounded too masculine. Usamed and Samedu sounded too Arabic and that wasn’t the vibe I was working towards. Amedus sounded too similar to Amadeus.

Dusame, unlike her original counterpart, appears to have a conscience. Instead of turning men into stone, she refuses to look at anyone and instead looks only into the mirror.

The mirror looks for her instead
of her own eyes, to which it fed
forbidden sights behind her--led
her to such things as she would wed
       fastly to her eyes. 

It gets old of course, looking into the mirror. In one version of Medusa, Medusa was so vain that she boasted that she was fairer than Athena in Athena’s own temple. (A Cute Children's Retelling is here.) I think this version was confounded with the story of Andromeda, whose mother, Cassiopeia, made the famous Boast of Cassiopeia about Andromeda’s beauty so that Andromeda had to be sacrificed on some rocks that fell into the ocean. (The rocks didn’t actually fall, they were in a formation of a cliff.) Anyway, Perseus, who happens to be flying by on Pegasus, who sprung from Medusa’s body after he decapitated her, saves Andromeda. All good and happy.

In my version, the conscience-stricken Dusame would love to go out into the great fun world to have fun but she cannot. Suitors actually come, or are they there to kill the Gorgons?

They come to see the sisters three,
heroic with a certainty,
that in their curse they bear gladly
are free to wave most luridly
at suitors all who fast decree
       to slay the sisters famously. 

It never ends this way, only
more turned to granite cruelly
not from fate but intensity
of finding more and differently. 

For Medusa’s gaze does not lose its potency in death and would be a great weapon in battle. That’s what “turned to granite” means, turned to stone.

That means if you kill her and want to use her stony gaze as a death-instrument, you have to kill her with her eyes OPEN. I bet you never thought about that, huh? I guess the men who come are not suitors in the literal sense. They might be if the Gorgons weren’t so dangerous, but some men like them that way, I’ve heard. ;-)

Notice also that there are no less than TEN, count them, TEN lines that rhyme. That's why I liken this to Edgar Allen Poe's the Raven: Once upon a midnight dreary while I wondered weak and weary over many a curious volume of forgotten lore. Suddenly there came a rapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping on my chamber door...I did that from memory so forgive any errors.

So, one day, a suitor comes

Two steps forward, whistling lowly
He has come to see the holy
of the Gorgons, changing solely
       at the break of eve. 

The only one that changes is Medusa, her sisters were born Gorgons and are thus immortal. Medusa was changed into a Gorgon and went to live with them, as they are the only ones that can withstand her petrifying gaze (besides other immortals, of course). This nice suitor wants to be a hero like all the others and intends to cut off Dusame’s head as a trophy and weapon of mass destruction:

Looked through the glass but for a flash,
He lifted sword and made to slash
her slender throat a deep red gash 

But can he do it? Not very nice considering how Dusame is considerate enough to keep from killing all the mortal men that come to woo and/or kill her. I guess you’ll have to read and find out!

Dusame in the Mirror Page

Again, I would like to note that I am totally against analyzing literature of any kind, but if it helps you to read it, I will be a sell out. I would also like to write full-time, so if you would like to see one of my screenplays on the big screen one of these days or find a book of mine in the bookstore, or meet me at a book signing, lulz, please spread the word, many thanks! =-)

Many other poets have found Medusa as an inspiration. Here is Sylvia Plath's poem on Medusa. Kinda' like mine better because it rhymes, lol. However, as an artiste (with an "e" at the end), invidious comparisons have no place in real art, wink wink.

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Led Zep's Houses of the Holy, A Continuation, Meaning Explained Part II : Casting out of the Garden of Eden, Wishing He Could Go Too

On to some more crib notes for my new lyrics to the Zep's Houses of the Holy. If you're like me, you're thinking Robert Plant wrote them when he was on something. But hey, the lyrics make sense in a cool kind of way. So do mine, if you don't think about it too hard. If there's anything I hate, it's talking about the meaning of a poem or story. However, a little background might provide useful information. It might not. Again, Led Zeppelin's lyrics to Houses of the Holy are below, followed by some crib notes to Part II. (Recall in the first part, Michael the Archangel readies to vanquish the hosts of Lucifer, former shining star of God. Part I: Sending his brother away)

In this next chapter, Michael must again banish someone from somewhere. This time: Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eve. I got this picture in my head from listening to:

There's an angel on my shoulder, In my hand a sword of gold

Let me wander in your garden.

a few too many times too many. Seems that someone is always being banished for something, this time, our progenitors for eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. I don’t like it that the woman gets blamed, since curiosity is a good thing for progress. If you consider what has really picked the world out of poverty, disease, famine, and the dark ages, it’s science (not religion), and the curious scientists that move the world. Nice that the Church put Galileo on house arrest or Leonardo DaVinci had to sneak to the morgue to dissect a human body. All condemned by Religigos (pronounced Reli-jigos, like “Gigolos”) who enjoy the benefits of Scientistas (you heard it here first, along with Religigos) conveniently forgetting to apologize for persecuting the curious scientists for being curious.

So, the end of Eden is Paradise lost as Adam and Eve are waiting for Michael to banquish (a combo of “banish” and “vanquish”, my goal is to create the most new American words of any person ever!) them for eating of the fruit of the Forbidden Tree of Knowledge (of Good and Evil). Don’t ask me why they’re waiting

There they wait with bags that match,

but Michael is a-coming.

Soon, we get to the famous scene where sword aloft and blazing, Michael drives the two East of Eden, another picture that has since cast the West as Good and the East as bad. (I’m glad I live in the Western hemisphere.) It’s a little overkill, I think, to light up his sword. It’s not as if Adam and Eve couldn’t be pushed out without a blazing sword. That’s where I got the:

Behind them Mike’s toy licks up hail

                    it’s really just for showing off.

He really likes to wow the females

Eve and Adam have their bags packed, waiting beside their nude bodies between two trees, the second tree being the Tree of Life. And here’s where I agree that Eve should be blamed: why did she eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil first? If it were me, I would have eaten of the Tree of Life first. Now being immortal, does it matter if I know everything? Then, at leisure, I could decide the benefits and costs of eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. (Some might counter that God would give humankind pain and that living forever would be a literal pain in the butt and other places.)

For if one lives long enough, one can learn a whole lot and not have to eat from the Forbidden Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Who needs it? 

And yes, I listened to the song the ENTIRE time I was writing the each chapter, which means that I listened to the song a lot!

Remember to read while you are listening to Led Zeppelin's song Houses of the Holy. The beat will make the story that much more fun and readable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy

Let me take you to the movies. Can I take you to the show

Let me be yours ever truly. Can I make your garden grow

From the houses of the holy, we can watch the white doves go

From the door comes Satan's daughter, and it only goes to show. You know.

There's an angel on my shoulder, In my hand a sword of gold

Let me wander in your garden. And the seeds of love I'll sow. You know.

So the world is spinning faster. Are you dizzy when you're stoned?

Let the music be your master. Will you heed the master's call

Oh... Satan and man.

Said there ain't no use in crying. Cause it will only, only drive you mad

Does it hurt to hear them lying? Was this the only world you had? Oh-oh

So let me take you, take you to the movie. Can I take you, baby, to the show.

Why don't you let me be yours ever truly. Can I make your garden grow

You know.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Click here for Part I: Sending his brother away

Part II : Casting out of the Garden of Eden, Wishing he could go too

Again, Michael must banish someone from somewhere. This time: Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eve. I got this picture in my head from listening to:

There's an angel on my shoulder, In my hand a sword of gold

Let me wander in your garden.

a few too many times too many. Seems that someone is always being banished for something, this time, our progenitors for eating of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. I don’t like it that the woman gets blamed, since curiosity is a good thing for progress. If you consider what has really picked the world out of poverty, disease, famine, and the dark ages, it’s science (not religion), and the curious scientists that move the world. Nice that the Church put Galileo on house arrest or Leonardo DaVinci had to sneak to the morgue to dissect a human body. All condemned by Religigos (pronounced Reli-jigos, like “Gigolos”) who enjoy the benefits of Scientistas (you heard it here first, along with Religigos) conveniently forgetting to apologize for persecuting the curious scientists for being curious.

So, the end of Eden is Paradise lost as Adam and Eve are waiting for Michael to banquish (a combo of “banish” and “vanquish”, my goal is to create the most new American words of any person ever!) them for eating of the fruit of the Forbidden Tree of Knowledge (of Good and Evil). Don’t ask me why they’re waiting

There they wait with bags that match,

but Michael is a-coming.

Soon, we get to the famous scene where sword aloft and blazing, Michael drives the two East of Eden, another picture that has since cast the West as Good and the East as bad. (I’m glad I live in the Western hemisphere.) It’s a little overkill, I think, to light up his sword. It’s not as if Adam and Eve couldn’t be pushed out without a blazing sword. That’s where I got the:

Behind them Mike’s toy licks up hail

                    it’s really just for showing off.

He really likes to wow the females

Eve and Adam have their bags packed, waiting beside their nude bodies between two trees, the second tree being the Tree of Life. And here’s where I agree that Eve should be blamed: why did she eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil first? If it were me, I would have eaten of the Tree of Life first. Now being immortal, does it matter if I know everything? Then, at leisure, I could decide the benefits and costs of eating from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. (Some might counter that God would give humankind pain and that living forever would be a literal pain in the butt and other places.)

For if one lives long enough, one can learn a whole lot and not have to eat from the Forbidden Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Who needs it?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As for Michael, he continues his bland ways:

In the distance, hear the thunder

            and a complacent kind of humming.

And:

He looks clinically at the two that stand

                 but one a bit more than the other

Who knows? Maybe Archangel Michael will be able to feel one of these days? Catch the next installment if you want to find out!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part II: Casting out of the Garden of Eden, Wishing he could go too

Uh, oh.  Here’s Mike to rip asunder.

                   Eden’s ending with his coming.

In the distance, hear the thunder

            and a complacent kind of humming.

He steps lightly, feathers taut

                senses alert like a wide-eyed bug

going into an invisible knot

          sees nothing--continues with a shrug.

There they wait with bags that match

   ‘tween the two trees that let them know:

There are things beyond their green patch

              that their paradise would not show.

                                         You know.

He looks clinically at the two that stand

                 but one a bit more than the other

then peers at the lines of the man

                 places his hand upon his brother

                                  You know.

The man’s look comes from seeing things

                          that he wasn’t meant to see.

Alas, now does those things that bring

                       blights of that accursed tree.

                                            Oh – oh.

Cause it’s easier to blame the fruit

                        or even the serpent’s tongue

frankly all of it is moot

                      the promises his woman sung

                                            Oh – oh-oh. . .

At last, grudging Mike must glance

                at the female looking beyond.

It seems she prefers her chance

                    and looks forward to the dawn.

              

Behind them Mike’s toy licks up hail

                    it’s really just for showing off.

He really likes to wow the females

                        with his aching sword aloft.

                                             You know.

At the edge, Mike rests his arm

                       and stands just to the inside.

She turns and he sees with alarm

                      the gleaming eyes of a bride

                                 Oh-oh, Satan and Man.

Mike didn’t know but he would face

                         those gleaming eyes again.

Inscrutable in time or place

                     When he’d be ready to begin.

But for now Mike returns alone

                        to quiet houses of the holy.

Where only the mighty like he are prone

             to stare out longingly at the lowly.

                                     

                                          Oh – oh – oh.

The lowly were a-walking

       Dragging feet and stepping toes, then

One says a prayer and hand crossing

                       the other just says an amen.

                                 Oh-oh, Man and Satan.

Background notes on Marrying Sis, A Story That Should Not Be

Some of you will wonder whether this is a work of fiction or an autobiography. I know that I would not wish what happened to the protagonist in this story on anyone. All I will say is that truth is the best defense to slander, and if you think some parts are true, count yourself among the lucky ones. For those of you getting married or know someone getting married, let them read this serial story. It might change their perspective on what is important for a wedding. (Pretty much nothing except love.)

I’ve added in facts that are obviously untrue to be confounded with some of the facts that shouldn’t be true, couldn’t be true, yet are nonetheless too true. The ridiculoso-ness of this makes me believe in Existentialism. To give you an idea what this wedding was like, here are other titles that I have entertained for this story:

Getting Married the Crazian Way

The Thing That Should Not Have Happened

A Thesis in Support of (the Existence of) Existentialism

There are Some Things that You Just Cannot Laugh About, No Matter How Hard You Try

and

How I Almost Died but Am Not Out of the Clear Just Yet

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(P.S. Thanks, Russian guy/gal for reading. Be sure to let your friends read this! Thanks!)

Marrying Sis. Chapter 1: Something We Thought Would Never Happen

I am going to try now to do what I have been trying for a while now. I am going to try to purge myself of the voices that keep running in my head, for they rattle like a cluttery poison that will not lie still. Nor is the poison toxic enough to do me in mercifully. I have no choice but to excise it myself, for it can be done by no one but me. No therapist, no counselor, no friend, no friends with benefits. They have helped, but they cannot hold my hand while I do it. In the end, I must do it on my own. And there is only one way. Transfer those voices to paper, where they can continue to scream their obscenities to others. Any who may hear will never feel the sting of the poison, for it dissolves the soul when inside the body. Careful before you turn the page, lest you catch the poison, too.

That is how I feel, and that is a good beginning for any truly traumatic story. I think you must think that this is a story of death, broken hearts, a genocide, or someone gone insane. A soldier returned from war with posttraumatic stress syndrome. Perhaps, but no. This story is milder, thanks be. But the intensity and the duration of it would have killed me, even a better person. It was a mingle of waiting for Godot and ludicrousness to the extreme. Made more bitter by the fact that the story is about a wedding. Specifically, it was about marrying sis.

Nobody thought that sis would ever get married. I never gave it much thought in that direction, for I am one of the few happy people in my family. I mean truly happy. I don’t get off on other people’s misfortunes, as is so often the way with the world. Comparisons to others is an inherent defect and virtue in humans, as it pushes them to achieve more, and lo, we have progress, the Industrial Revolution, the Technical revolution. Jealousy, among other vices, advances humankind. Envy of others makes us work harder. Lust has ensured that our species will survive and that we are the dominant nasty-basties on this earth. Anger fuels our need for revenge, and the best revenge is success. Not sure about gluttony but sloth, it is the Second Law of Thermodynamics. It is a law that we observe empirically but does not have to theoretically hold. That is why people cling to the hope of eternal life. Maybe our bodies do not have to degrade over time after all. The clincher though, is time. Ahh.

When we were young, there were four of us. There are four of us today, but in a very different sense. The oldest is a physician. She’s a Bible Belt bigot, BBB for short. (It’s funny tough, because her husband calls my mother a racist. More on that later.) I call her a Religigo, pronounced like “gigolo”. Religigos are religious bigots who are hard, inflexible, unyielding in their thoughts, not in a good way either, as my uncle the priest described my sister the Religigo before he died. (Not on his death bed, sometime when my uncle was visiting California and I took him around Los Angeles.) He meant it in a way that caused trouble. Oh yeah.

The second oldest is my sis that was getting married, the one nobody thought would get married. Of all people, I never spoke these words and was too happily busy with my life to think about it. I don’t think about negatives, and have endless hope. Like the eternal flame of the Olympians. That flame almost extinguished this past year. It was a close one, but I refused to let a thing like a wedding, sibling rivalry (had no idea that existed in my family until this wedding), general family feuding, constant inconsiderateness the type that will leave you freezing in the cold because someone locked the door and forgot they borrowed your key earlier that afternoon kind of inconsiderateness, kill my hope. Even if it was the kind of lack of consideration that kills.

The third is my brother, who first became an attorney, and then a priest, also in that order. Before he was a priest he was the Queen Bee of gossip. Now, he refuses to talk about anything, the good, bad, or ugly, nor lend a listening ear. It’s hard for him to tell the difference between busybody talk and conversation that has a purpose. For time and over I have tried to explain (to the imaginary audience in my head): discretion is not an acquired taste. You can’t learn it, neither can you forget it. Remember this, dear brother.

The youngest is me, dilettante extraordinaire, a committed one I’d like to point out. I was the student who aced the exams by cramming the night before and made 99 percentiles on the standardized exams. And when there was one genius score in our class when the IQ exams were administered…You got it. I come from a highly intelligent family. For instance, my oldest sister might not have made national Merit Scholar but she came close. I made it even after arriving late for the exam. Ouch. But she made Salutatorian. Some people get it, some people plug, but we all get there in the end, tortoise or hare.

I left home when I was seventeen and on hindsight wished I had left when I was sixteen. Could have started school early at Berkeley. But senior year high school was a blast, and there were a lot of cute boys in my class. I was excited to go to prom, even if it was with my cousin. We grew up in Texas after all.

My parents forbid me to leave. They threatened up and down and round about what I’m not sure I wasn’t paying that much attention. It was a great surprise to my parents not only that I left but the small amount of heartache that I left behind. For you see, in my family, decisions are made as a group. The herd mentality of the clan takes over, and there is a vote on what you are going to do with the rest of your life including what you are going to have for lunch today, no arguments. And that was what I gave my parents. No arguments. They still have not figured out that if one side refuses to talk, there can be no argument. Subtle as that may seem, it rarely happens, especially in my family.

My family is composed of a whole lot of people. Two brothers married two cousins and basically bred like rabbits. It was a good thing that my great-grandmother was reasonably wealthy in the old country. After she was widowed, she refused to remarry, unheard of then, sort of like leaving to go to college out of state. Gasp. Even my great grandmother rang up my father and said that I could not go to California to go to school. “Good girls did not do that.”

“What can I do,” my father replied. It was not a question because I was decided. “She’s going and in America, you can’t chain a child to the bed.” Too bad, I’m sure my great grandmother thought. Because the world is going to hell in a hand basket because parents cannot tie their children to the bedpost. What is this world coming to. Not a question but a gloom-and-doom prediction. At college, I prospered, earning several degrees, some of which I forget I have until someone asks me how many degrees I have and pull out both hands and start counting. Kidding. But it’s easy enough to earn a sixth, I suppose. Kidding again.

My family pulled themselves up like the American dream. No, we didn’t become manicurists or open any manicure shops. Tippi Hedren, you should be ashamed of yourself. For those of you who know that she is the gorgeous actress in “The Birds”, you should also know that she helped some Asian refugees when they first came over to America find work. And what sort of work do you think she found them? To this day, I have never had a manicure. I have had people stop me outside a manicure shop asking if I had an opening, yet I have had a pedicure once, for my oldest sister’s wedding. When my parents expectedly were against her marrying a boy who was not Vietnamese. Same old Montague and Capulets with only the Capulets protesting. The Capulet parents that is. My siblings and I, second oldest sis, older brother, and I all supported my oldest sis, which is why it’s sad that she tried to break up my second sis’s engagement.

There is a concept in law that says, even if you don’t have an intent at the forefront of your mind, if you act that way, talk that way, well then, you’re a duck. And if you really think you didn’t have motive, then you are even daffier than a duck. That’s one way of describing my oldest sister’s mindset during her younger sister’s engagement period. (Not me, second sis. Three sisters, one brother.)

It didn’t help that my parents were all for second sis’s nuptials when they were dead set against my oldest sister’s marriage, my mother until the very day of the wedding, yeah, that bad. My mother has since profusely apologized, a long, windy apology that kept me in my room wondering when I could come down to get a bite of food. My oldest sis and her husband were downstairs listening to my mother apologize. I had started down the stairs when I realized the significant moment was happening and quietly scurried back upstairs, my stomach growling at me for keeping it empty.

Red Herring Number One: my oldest sis claims that my parents lack of support during her nuptials and my parents complete support of my middle sis’s wedding was why she was so angry and tried to not purposefully, but for all practical purposes, sabotage middle sis’s wedding. Nice try, except that doesn’t explain why my oldest sis was so cruel to my middle sis, who was my oldest sis’s maid of honor and did everything in her power to give my oldest sis the best wedding possible. That part has never been explained adequately, but as my sister is a smart physician, she came up with a rationalization that jives in her mind while revealing her as more uncaring as I would have liked to have believed in any sister, brother, friend, but possible foe.

The rationalizations will come in their own good time, dribbled out in the manner my oldest sis delivered them, with gusto and a straight face that a poker champ would envy. Let us go to the approximate time that my middle sister came up to the room that I stayed in when visiting my parents. She was going to announce her engagement and wanted to tell me first.

I had been home with my parents a lot because my mother had been ill for a long time, bedridden ill, so I came home to help my Dad take care of my mother. He had wasted away to virtually nothing, which foreshadowed my same state during the wedding preparations. We both lost almost twenty pounds. My dad was a good weight to begin with prior to my mother’s illness; I was very slender prior to my sister’s engagement. Going from a size extra small to an ultra small is not a happy change. Stress releases cortisol in people and they tend to gain weight. People who sleep little tend to gain weight also (more time to eat). But at the extreme, overwork and undernourishment will make you look like someone who has been under a forced starvation. I don’t mean to disrespect to the people who suffered this, but this is how I looked at the end. No two ways about it. I lost my signature chubby cheeks, my firm, but fully packed derriere, small but not flat, and the small cupcakes of boobs that I cherished for the sake of their scarcity. If this was all my sis’s wedding cost me, I would be happy. Really.

But the cost of this wedding has yet to be told. So I will tell it and let you calculate the cost. 

***This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person is purely uncanny, nothing more.***

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Led Zep's Houses of the Holy, A Continuation, Meaning Explained Part I. Sending his Brother Away

Click here for the lyrical poem, "And now Here Comes Michael Walking," that I wrote after listening to Led Zep's Houses of the Holy one too many times late one night when I was cramming for a final exam.

Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy

Some people comment that my writing isn't transparent on a first or second (or third read). Here is some explanation of the lyrics that I wrote (that go in time with Led Zeppelin's song), after hearing this song one too many times. After reading these comments and the meaning behind my new lyrics, it might make the reading a little more enjoyable.

After extending the story of Houses of the Holy, which isn't really a story but I made it into one from a few of the catchy phrases in the lyrics, the epic story-poem, call it whatever you want, kept telling itself, so to speak, or so to write.

And yes, I listened to the song the ENTIRE time I was writing the each chapter, which means that I listened to the song a lot!

Remember to read while you are listening to Led Zeppelin's song Houses of the Holy. The beat will make the story that much more fun and readable.

I would like to note that I do not enjoy reading "critiques" or "analysis" of literature before reading anything. However, I did need to read Einstein's notes on his Relativity (the version for the layman, which is really too heavy duty for the layman) and found them useful and necessary, and wished the Maestro had written more, more more! Einstein is Maestro II in my Princess Boo Stories. Maestro I is Newton (or the other way around, I forget).

If you are a Led Zeppelin fan as I am, you no doubt love, luv, l-o-v-e Houses of the Holy. The lyrics are copied below:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Let me take you to the movies. Can I take you to the show
Let me be yours ever truly. Can I make your garden grow

From the houses of the holy, we can watch the white doves go
From the door comes Satan's daughter, and it only goes to show. You know.

There's an angel on my shoulder, In my hand a sword of gold
Let me wander in your garden. And the seeds of love I'll sow. You know.

So the world is spinning faster. Are you dizzy when you're stoned?
Let the music be your master. Will you heed the master's call
Oh... Satan and man.

Said there ain't no use in crying. Cause it will only, only drive you mad
Does it hurt to hear them lying? Was this the only world you had? Oh-oh

So let me take you, take you to the movie. Can I take you, baby, to the show.
Why don't you let me be yours ever truly. Can I make your garden grow
You know.

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Part I. Sending his Brother Away

I got the pic of Satan’s daughter standing in a doorway to a bordello in Reconstruction Era New Orleans (don’t ask me why New Orleans, maybe because the Orleans casino is a large Southern estate-like mansion on its façade.)

Reconstruction Era, for you furreners (j/k), foreigners, internationals who I love because all seven of you read my writing, lol, is the period in American history after the Civil War. The South went through a very rough period, as after President Lincoln was assassinated, the Northern Congressmen were unforgiving in their policies toward the South. Some would say the deep South deserved such punitive measures. Today, many reenact famous Civil War battles and fly the Confederate flag. (These are the states that voted very red in the election this month, btw.) Evidently, most people did not espouse Abraham Lincoln’s view that:

“I have always found that mercy bears greater fruits than strict justice.”

If Lincoln had said “punishment” in lieu of “justice” I think I might have agreed with him more, in light of the word “always” also being in there. I think he meant: with “strict administration of the law, justice is not always served because no law is perfect, being either too over-inclusive or not enough, and not being able to tailor judgments to every single situation. But we all get the point.

Anyway, and she’s standing there (Satan’s daughter, sorry for the digression), much like Mae West in “Diamond Lil”. But of course, she has to be waiting for somebody or somebody has to be passing by that catches her eye, or vice versa. Satan’s daughter, not Mae West, or maybe both. J or all three, Diamond Lil, too.

Who else but Michael, since he’s got his flaming sword in hand. So the story begins, and soon I found myself daydreaming about famous scenes from the Bible, that are well documented in gilded paintings on doorway panels in Byzantine and Eastern Orthodox Churches, as well as ornately carved panels in Western Cathedrals.

Part I, posted earlier, tells of Michael readying for battle with Lucifer, who was the original bad-ass archangel, bigger than Michael back then. When Lucifer gathers his host of angels that are willing to follow him into battle against God, God sends Archangel Michael, God’s new right-hand man, er, angel.

In the first part of this epic poem, Michael is readying for battle. He’s donning his chain mail (don’t ask me why angels need armor) over his wings (feather, not rainbow wings). His chain mail is a bit corroded and stinky because Michael never bathes, as angels need not. However, chain mail does need upkeep even if angels do not. After all those battles, the perspiration and blood, if indeed angels bleed or sweat, must take its toll on Michael’s armor and garments. Since angels are sinless (except Lucifer and those who went down with him), Michael doesn’t need to shower, so the joke here is that pure Michael might be a bit stinky (only something that people who are sensitive to the slightest odors would think about, Eew).

That’s also why Michael might feel a bit bland, as some philosophical schools of thought would agree that good cannot exist without evil, since there would be nothing by which to compare the former (or the latter). How do you know what is good if there is no bad? (Or the idea of “evil”?) Thus, badness is not such a bad thing and a necessity. In my epic story poem at least.

Gabs of course is Archangel Gabriel, the Bearer of Good Tidings since he appeared before the Virgin Mary to tell her that the child she was bearing was from God. That’s why he’s all happy and has bouncy curls (that was in an older version). Michael has salon-fatigued curls (later chapter) because he’s unsettled in mind and spirit for some reason, especially after seeing Satan’s daughter.

Looking out to heaven’s blue sky (which is never red, btw), Michael sees the approach of his brother Lucifer, which makes him sad, Michael, not Lucifer. For although the Bible and most fire-and-brimstone religions are black and white, I cannot imagine brothers who truly love each other being happy about killing each other and never seeing the other again. Although the Bible tells of God being sad that Lucifer was lost, the general tone of the Church is pretty cold towards Satan.

That’s what’s behind Michael’s “queer mix of love” for his brother Lucifer, as Lucifer, knowing heaven and sin is the only of the archangels to know (in the Biblical sense of having lived) right from wrong, to be distinguished from Archangel Michael, who knows in theory what is right and wrong but has only ever practiced “right”.

I correct myself: On this day, if heaven is measured in such terms, heaven does bleed with red, so I guess the skies must have been pretty purple (or maybe lavender since heaven is light blue. Actually, you would probably get a darkish reddish purple. Merely wishful thinking on my part since lavender is a happier color.)

Lucifer’s nickname is Luz (no, not in the Bible, in my story), which means “light” in Spanish. That leads into my reference to the morning star, Venus, which some would not approve as some do not believe that devils should be referred to as guiding stars.

I don’t care because this is my poem. So, crank up Led Zep’s Houses of the Holy and read this poem to its tempo. You’ll see it reads pretty darn well.

Friend me on Facebook!

On to Part Due.

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MY OTHER WRITINGS

What I Said When I saw Salvador Dali's Metamorphosis of Narcissus

It's the Ground Game, Baby! (Going to a Swing State to Campaign and Partying with the Dems)

Click here for An Open Letter to President Obama.

Yay! The election’s over and Four More Years! Four More Years! Which of course inspired me to write an Inaugural Poem for Obama #44 (try to guess where I sneak in the #44 in my poem! The answer is (will be in the Crib Notes explaining the poem!) Check out Other Inaugural Poems from great poets like Robert Frost for J.F.K. and Maya Angelou for  B.O., yeah! (And remember to Friend me on Facebook to get the poem out!)


For almost half in this country, it’s nothing to celebrate. My sister even felt labor pangs when Obama won again (yay!) but they subsided and my godson was born a week later. The labor pangs were from stress, not a good kind when she wanted Romney to win. Luckily, there was no talk of politics when I visited my sis for the baptism. It helps when you stay in a hotel and rent your own car. (Hotel my idea, car rental my mom’s.)

The week before the election, I wanted to head over to Nevada to do some campaigning, but had to finish some work before I could. Had to make sure that I had enough to cover my bills while taking some time off. For weeks, Obama For America had urged me to make a donation, even as little as five dollars, they said, but I hadn’t even that amount to give since everything was going to bills. Finally, a few days before the campaign, I had mustered enough to cover my bills while away in Nevada, with a few bucks, i.e., five dollars, left over to either donate to Obama For America or buy a fruit smoothie from Burger King (my serving of fruits and vegetables for the day). Burger King had a buy-one-get-one-free coupon I wanted to take advantage of but if I did, I wouldn’t have anything to contribute to Obama For America. So, I did the conscionable thing and donated five dollars. The very next minute, I got an email from Prez Obama asking: Ssal, thank you for your generous donation of Five Dollars, but we still need your help! Can you help with the campaign by making some phone calls? Why, yes, Mr. President, I can!

So, I hopped into my car with some buddies and headed over to Sin City in the great Swing State of Nevada. Some of them were already there, dutifully making phone calls and urging people to vote! Regrettably, I did not have much time to help with the campaign, but it was great fun! So many people hung up on me, yelled at me for bothering them with phone calls night and day for months (sorry, this is my first time calling, Mr. Hinks), and a few thanked me for my service (makes it all worthwhile!).

The Democratic headquarters in Las Vegas was smaller than I had imagined but evidently much bigger than the Republican base. According to my friend, the Democratic office was organized to my tastes, cluttery and haphazard. However, if you read the news, the Democratic Party was super-organized compared to the Repubs. So, I flicked away a used piece of Kleenex tissue (ew) crumpled on the desk at which I was assigned, grabbed a soda, and went to work.

The list I was given were the dregs of the potential Dem voters. That is, the high probability voters had already been contacted (half a dozen times) and we were scraping the barrel bottom for every last vote! Some of them must have recognized my vote because as soon as they picked up the phone and before I could greet them with “Hello, my name is Ssal with the…” click. Somebody made some monster noises on the other line, so I called back just to be sure (of what, I don’t know), and sure enough, he made the same monster noises and quickly hung up on me.

But it was for the cause, and I called through almost a dozen sheets of names and numbers, marking each one per the party’s directions, indicating if I made a real human “contact” or not. If I spoke to someone who was a relative and assured me that the person I was trying to reach had already voted, that still did NOT count. Can’t trust ‘em. Gotta’ talk to the man himself. The only way to have an accurate vote count. (That’s why Romney or many in Romney’s party thought he was going to win on election day. Go figure.)

After taking a pizza break, I started dialing again. Yikes, I got a rush job that I didn’t really want because these few days were supposed to be devoted to campaigning. Unfortunately, it was a big job and I couldn’t turn down the paycheck, so I finished up with some more campaigning until close to 9 p.m. (can’t call people past their bedtime anyway) and headed off to Starbucks to download some info to start my ill-timed project and worked until the wee hours of the morning.

Election day! We headed back to the office to make more phone calls; by the afternoon, it was more crucial to give rides to the polls. I was assigned a phone in an administrator’s office (that sounds grander than it is), so in between making phone calls, I kept getting phone calls. I was directed not to answer them, so avoided them, but once when I picked up the receiver to make a phone call, after dialing, I hear not ringing tone but instead get: Hello, I need a ride to vote. Bingo! I always wanted to get voters to the polls and help the disenfranchised! Actually, these people were not disenfranchised, only did not have a car and they were too old and sick to walk or ride the bus to their polling place.

The first person we picked up was a Vet. Bum knee still in a cast. Thanks for your service, dude. It’s sad that these people don’t have anyone nearby to help them to the polls, (other than the Democratic Party, of course of course!). Disabled people often get isolated, so we cheerily drove him to the elementary school that was his voting location and walked him in to vote! My first ride getting people to the polls! So exciting! If you want to do something really worthwhile in life, say, in contrast to going shopping on Black Friday, this is the thing to do! I almost cried walking Dave the Vet back to the car and helping him out of the car when we reached his home. He had a cat that missed him and that was all. Waiting for him to enter his house safely, we headed back to the office to pick up another voter who wanted to practice his right to vote!

The next person was in tears. She had been waiting for hours because no one wanted to pick her up. The address information this lady gave was not showing up precisely on Google Maps. Sometimes people don’t give us the correct info or something is lost in translation when speaking over the phone. Either way, all our drivers were busy ferrying other folks to the polls, so I volunteered to find this lady. I didn’t know that her residence was not in the best part of town, the part that people avoid after dark.

Undaunted, a friend and I went out in search of her place, like the knight in Edgar Allen Poe’s “El Dorado” (that’s why I write poems like Poe--see other pages and posts--, love his work). By the time we finally found her apartment, she had just been picked up by some other volunteers, good for them! Except I wish things had been a bit more coordinated because we spent almost an hour looking for her while a few other people were waiting.

Finally, we picked up a voter who ten minutes before the polls closed. He had MS and could not drive to his polling place. Agh! Fate was not kind for he typed in the incorrect address into his phone and we ended up circling the area before we finally found his polling place. They were packing up! Poor fella’ he had never missed a voting day in his life. What would his mother say, he asked? At least he tried, we consoled him. Because every vote does count. . .

By the time we dropped him off, everyone was heading to the Mandalay Bay. The Republicans were gathering at the Venetian, owned by Billionaire Akin who pledged up to 200 million to making Obama a one-term president (aren’t there better reasons to campaign? Like campaigning FOR someone because you believe in their principles instead of AGAINST someone because you don’t like them? I can imagine if the person was very hateful, like Hitler, but really, guys). I didn’t even think of bringing a nice outfit, so made do with a lavender skirt and lavender sweater (really, I was a bit too purple-pink that night) and a pair of boots. Was going to wear my coat because I get cold easily when one of my friends reminded me that it was almost 70 degrees outside.

Walking from the parking garage of the Mandalay Bay to the North Convention Hall ballroom, you could feel the excitement. People were laughing and wearing Obama signs. I had checked my phone on the way to the Mandalay and the reports showed Obama breaking away in Ohio. By the time we got a blue wristband to enter the ballroom, the jumbo screens showed CNN, ABC, and CBS calling Ohio for Obama with 280 electoral votes, the crowd broke into deafening cheers, all over the country, I suspect. (Fox was a little behind the curve with this one, as you might have seen, tee hee. Carl Rove was stuttering his protest about how Ohio could still be won, tee hee.)

We waited for the speeches but unfortunately, Romney’s concession speech was interrupted by a local who had just won and was giving his acceptance speech in the ballroom, which was being broadcast live. At least we saw Obama’s speech, which was thrilling for the crowd. Someone raised their iPad to record the jumbo screen. That was one of the nights when you really felt that “God’s in his heaven, All’s right with the world.”

Talk about a high that you didn’t want to end.

You mean no more polls? Where do I get my morning fix of election polls and stories? I bookmarked the 538 Blog, CNN’s polling center, Real Clear Politics all on my Bookmarks tab. They replaced all my other important tabs, such as you know, Macy’s and wow, I can’t even remember what I used to have bookmarked. For me for months, there was nothing BUT the election. What do I do now?

We were smiling through and through for days, beaming our smiles right from our hearts.

If you read all the post-election analysis, the consensus of why Obama won is pretty simple: It’s the ground game baby. But this runs a bit deeper. When the Supreme Court decided the election ion 2000, I and so many others were indignant, downright fuming! I had followed the Gore-Bush election avidly as well, but for some reason, knowing that it was close, didn’t prompt me to help with the campaign. Maybe it was Gore, good but not inspiring.

With Obama, you just feel the love. So when pundits say that Obama won because of  super-sophisticated ground-game of unprecedented numbers, they’re right. People like me traveled from all over the country, “flew in for 10 days” one man we met in the elevator of the Mandalay Bay because “he would die” if Obama lost. That’s the kind of people Obama inspired. The just left their jobs, took vacation days, traveled to Swing states, and made phone calls, registered voters, anything for The Cause. No one but Obamaman could inspire such love.

Too bad that higher-than-a-kit feeling had to end. But the steady serenity we feel now is a pretty good substitute.

Four more years! Yay! 

Which of course inspired me to write an Inaugural Poem for Obama #44 (try to guess where I sneak in the #44 in my poem! The answer is (will be in the Crib Notes explaining the poem!) Check out Other Inaugural Poems from great poets like Robert Frost for J.F.K. and Maya Angelou for  B.O., yeah!

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MY OTHER WRITINGS

What I Said When I saw Salvador Dali's Metamorphosis of Narcissus at the Tate Modern 

Princess Boo Wakes Up on theWrong Side of the Bed

The Sectarian Part III: Story of a (Somewhat) Lovable Religigo

BUYING SKIN WHITENER

INT. DRUGSTORE   DAY

LAKE (V.O.)

But it wasn't only her dress and speech that Luzy-Ann strived to conform to local standards, it was her look as well.

Luzy-Ann is browsing around a drugstore.  She picks up a bottle of lotion labeled, "Skin Brightener: Works on all skin types."

CLERK

May I help you? 

LUZY-ANN

Uh, yes. 

I see you've found our new skin-enhancing product.

LUZY-ANN

Yes, I have.  I'm--intrigued.  How does it work?

CLERK

(secretively)

It has black licorice in it.

LUZY-ANN

(grateful for the insight)

Oh--black licorice!  Really!

CLERK

(rubs some on her hand)

See how nice it rubs on.  You only have to use it every time you go out.

LUZY-ANN

Kind of like SPF.

CLERK

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, it has that too.  Lots of it.  Let's see, it says here on the bottle: SPF 25.  That should be enough for you--Oh!

LUZY-ANN

That's all right, I understand.

The Clerk hands the bottle to Luzy-Ann to help another customer.  Luzy-Ann continues reading the bottle.  She decides to purchase it and takes it to the checkout counter.  

CLERK

I'm sure you'll love it.  We've had some colored folks come in and buy it.  Since you're lighter (magnanimously), well of course, it should work even better on you.

LUZY-ANN

One can only hope.

The Clerk smiles and places the whitening lotion in a bag. 

CLERK

Thank you Luzy-Ann and come again now.  Let me know how it works.  I bet I won't even be able to recognize you when you come back.  You know what I mean.

They both laugh.

LAKE (V.O.)

My sister understood so well, that she not only did she take great pains to "whiten" her skin, change her dress and speech, but alter the workings of her natural mind as well.

INT. BEDROOM   DAY

Luzy-Ann dons gloves and hat and preens herself in the mirror.

LAKE (V.O.)

It all coincided so well with her efforts to appear a lady.

SUNDAY SCHOOL

INT.  CLASSROOM   MORNING

LAKE (V.O.)

Therefore, my sister excelled in Sunday school, which I did not.  Subjects about sex were particularly disturbing to my sister.  We were talking about the roles that chastity played in so much of the Catholic dogma one day. 

NUN MARGARITA is standing in front of the class.  She is teaching Sunday school where Luzy-Ann and Lake go. 

A boy named GERALD raises his hand to ask a question. 

GERALD

Why is contraception not allowed?  It's not like it's abortion or anything.  You're not killing anything because there's no conception.

NUN MARGARITA

Because the union between a man and a woman is holy and it is sinful to interfere with God's will.

GERALD

But what if you weren't going to get pregnant anyway?  Where's the interference?

NUN MARGARITA

Since we don't know that ahead of time, it is against the natural will of holy matrimony.

GERALD

I don't buy it.

NUN MARGARITA

Well, it is taught by the Church and the Pope himself. 

GERALD

The Pope!  But if you no play the game, you no make the rules. 

Nun Margarita blushes.  Lake laughs and raises her hand.

NUN MARGARITA

(grateful for the diversion)

Yes, Lake?

LAKE

Why can't girls be priests?

NUN MARGARITA

Well, because the church doesn't allow it. 

LAKE

Why don’t they allow it?

NUN MARGARITA

Because that was the way Saint Peter set up the church. 

LAKE

You mean he wanted only men leading the church?  Why, because they're better?

NUN MARGARITA

One should not assume to be able to divine the purpose of God.

LAKE

Saint Peter did.  Doesn't it strike you as fishy that a man set up a church ruled by men?  If women can vote now, why can't they be priests?  Black men can become priests, can't they?

Nun Margarita looks visibly uncomfortable.

LUZY-ANN

(hisses)

Lake!  Quit it!

LAKE

(not deterred)

Why do some who touch a holy person or saint get well, but some don't?  Why don't they all get well if the person's really holy? 

NUN MARGARITA

Miracles cannot be explained.  We should just be happy that some happen. 

LAKE

But they all believed because they came to be healed.  Don't people who don't come get healed anyway?  So you can not (emphasis) believe and still get healed? 

Gerald laughs audibly as do some other students.

LAKE

(continuing)

Has anyone done a study on whether the believers who touched a holy person got cured a higher percentage than the believers who were lazy and stayed at home?  and did both of those categories of believers heal miraculously at a rate higher than nonbelievers in general?

The class laughs.  LUZY-ANN glares at Lake.  Lake whispers to Gerald.  He raises his hand. 

GERALD

When two countries are going to war, and they both pray against each other, who wins?  The better side or does it depend on god's mysterious ways again?  If that's so, why pray at all? 

INT.  PRESBYTARIAN/EPISCOPALIAN?? CHURCH   DAY

LAKE (V.O.)

Despite Luzy-Ann's obedience, secretly, my sister was yearning to exercise her oldest sibling syndrome.

Luzy-Ann is sitting in a pew, arms on the back of a pew, her chin on her hands.  She watches longingly, a female deacon preaching in the pulpit.

LAKE (V.O.)

But my sister found that this forbidden fruit was just another way to practice her humility.

Luzy-Ann sighs.

WATCHING THE PRIESTS

INT. CHURCH   DAY

LAKE (V.O.)

Not being able to be a priest was not the only forbidden fruit that my sister enjoyed being denied.

While she is walking down a staircase, Luzy-Ann is watching two priests talking together; she has the hots for priests. 

Not paying attention to where she is going, she trips down the stairs.

LUZY-ANN

Whoah!

NO DATES FOR LUZY-ANN, NO DATES FOR ANYONE

EXT. OUTDOOR EATERY   DAY

Luzy-Ann is in the center of a group.  She and some friends are having a snack outside.  They are seated at a table.

LAKE (V.O.)

My sister studied the way the townsfolk talked and wagged their tongues.  Soon, there was no one better than my sister for spreading the news.  She learned well that offense was the only defense. 

GOSSIPER

I heard that she not only snuck out at eleven, but that she didn't come back until four in the morning. 

LUZY-ANN

Four!  Did her parents find out?

GOSSIPER

Not yet, though I don't know how they couldn't.  Everybody knows about it and frankly, I feel sorry for the poor dears.  I mean, if my daughter stayed out all night and got drunk and nobody knows what she did all night except--

(whispers to the girls)

Mary-Ann and Luzy-Ann laugh. 

LAKE (V.O.)

My sister had the loud tittering laugh of so many females who were socially behind, that is to say, unmarried and so did not understand the nature of many jokes that one knows about from being in the know, knowing someone, that is. 

Bobby-Lee and his friend walk by the group of girls.

BOBBY-LEE

Hey, LUZY-ANN, looking good.

Luzy-Ann ignores Bobby-Lee.

BOBBY-LEE

Hey, you still sore about the second grade?  Didn't you know, I picked on you because I liked you?  That's what all the guys did in that grade.  How else we supposed to talk to a girl?

Luzy-Ann looks dubious, but not at him.  

BOBBY-LEE

I mean, you were always the prettiest girl in school.

MARY-ANN

Are you going to the dance Saturday?

BOBBY-LEE

Depends, you going Luzy-Ann?

LUZY-ANN

Maybe.

BOBBY-LEE

Sure to there then.  See you girls.

The boys walk away.

PRAYING FOR A MAN

INT. CHURCH   DAY

Luzy-Ann is kneeling at a pew in church.  She is praying fervently.

LUZY-ANN

Dear lord, I love you and am your humble servant.  Please help me find a loving man, who will do your will and follow your way.

LAKE (V.O.)

It was not that she used praying as a means to try to get what she wanted that was so like her, it was the fact that she didn't recognize that she was getting less particular the older she got, so that her increase in the number of times a man asked her out per annum, was owing to her more flexible standards more so than divine intervention.  Of course, this would be devoutly denied by her and all such old maidens.  Yet, who knew, maybe god did counsel her to be more tolerant? 

INT.  DANCE HALL  EVENING

A geeky guy, GEORGE, talking to Luzy-Ann at a dance.  She is not interested.  Luzy-Ann ignores him and focuses her attention on JANIE. 

LAKE (V.O.)

It was this lack of action that left a void in my sister's life, and even with the superfluous amount of praying that she did, she still found time to inquire into other people's lives.  She had a great authoritative look, that she used to disapprove of people.  I think it was the same one that her teacher, the one who punished her for beating up Bobby-Lee and Billy-Joe, used on her.  This look was always given in the strictest moral situations, or as her look would suggest, in immoral cases where fun was to be strictly prohibited, particularly if my sister could not share in it. 

JANIE

(breathlessly and expansively) 

We're going to the lake tonight.  It's gonna' be so romantic.  He's been talking about buying the old Homer place.  I think he's going to pop the question soon.

(almost squealing)

LUZY-ANN

(manipulatively)

Are you sure you should be going?

JANIE

What do you mean?

LUZY-ANN

(slowly)

I mean, the lake is a make-out spot.  Are you sure you want to be seen there?  Tales run fast in this town.  Before you know it, he won't pop any question if your reputation has been compromised, even when he was the cause of it! 

GEORGE

Uh, huh.  I agree with Luzy-Ann.

Janie looks distressed.  Luzy-Ann spies Father Denton with Nun Margarita and waves enthusiastically.  He comes over to talk to them.  Nun Margarita talks to some other parishioners.

FATHER DENTON

Good evening ladies.  Good evening, George.

LUZY-ANN

Excited

Good evening, Father.

Janie and George greet Father Denton.

FATHER DENTON

I see you're not dancing.  That's what a dance is for.  How about it George?  Why don't you sweep one of these fine ladies off her feet?

GEORGE

(laughing bashfully)

Would you do me the honor, Luzy-Ann?

LUZY-ANN

(unenthusiastically)

Love to, George.

George offers his arm to Luzy-Ann.  She takes it and they walk to the dance floor.

LAKE (V.O.)

Although my sister preached abstinence, somehow, George "I'm saving myself for marriage" didn't quite fit into her idea of a husband she could obey and submit herself to.

On the dance floor, George and Luzy-Ann pass Bobby-Lee and a flashy female he is dancing with.

BOBBY-LEE

Hi, Luzy-Ann!

But he makes not mention of a dance later.  Luzy-Ann despairs of her situation with George.

FATHER DENTON

Now there's a nice young couple.

Janie giggles.

CONFESSION: IMPURE THOUGHTS