ID-SAVANTISM1

A Post-Parricidal Indulgence

(Jan 10/06)
Rosehip tea, so I’ve discovered, is haughty and suggestively menstrual. It languishes on the tongue with a laconic concupiscence that reminds one of beheadings and minced steak tartar. I find a thin wafer of melba, or a finger of lightly toasted baguette, a most pleasant accompaniment to the further enrapture of this most inauspicious post-parricidal fete. This Oedipal treat, as it is referred to in Platonic terms, helps to cleanse the palate after the eye-gouging and castration of the paternal other.

It further aids in the lessening of guilt, shame and the prevailing malaise that general follows after the Oedipal revenge has been exacted. Rosehip tea, or crushed rose petals, is also a good pre-coital balm when applied, or smeared, liberally to the coition organs and skin surrounding the anus. Its lubricious medicinal character also helps prevent unwanted chafing and tensor markings. No other tea, or herbal potation, has this inveigling effect, perhaps a decaffeinated Earl Grey, or a Chamomile, but these tend to further affect the pineal gland, which, as you know from previous postings, is the seat of the Ego, or in my case, Id-Ego, or Ego-Chattel.

Of course I was privy to this oedipal lore while an inmate in an insane asylum (with the inveterate scribbler Mr. Robert Walser, who unbeknown to me, stole my notepaper and pencil-ends when my back was turned), where I was briefly interned for an inability to urinate without crouching in horror and yawing at the top of my lungs. As my Petrus Der-Boonekamp is full to middling with ends and odds, perhaps sleep, or the ascension to unconsciousness, is an appropriate affectation to affect, torpor or not. All things must come to end, find their commode; so to speak, even those of us wane with an Ego-less Id-neology. (A fine example of paragraphic trinity)