The Little Vagabond (man, he sure can hold his liquor)

The spring weather has so inspired Barfly that we’re positively giddy. In fact, we’re so giddy that we’re going have a nip of the dangerous drink that we sip only thrice a season: culture.

But, what to do? We’ve been to the circus – if you’ve seen one midget Asian in a body stocking you’ve seen ‘em all. . We’ve recently recovered from post traumatic shock syndrome after our visit to the New Museum (conceptually speaking, that is). If we have to pretend to like Jazzercise one more time, well, then we’d be content to live in a flabby, cultureless void for the rest our existence.

We went into our library for inspiration (only after the nursery failed to provide any ideas – a lot of good your help is, stupid Mr. Hobby Horse). Perhaps one of those dusty “book” things could guide us. As we ran our finger along the spines for an idea, we realized two things:

1. Books bound in skin may provide a sleek visual thrill, but they sure feel yucky.

2. Culture was right in front of us! We just had to look inside the books. We’ve always been so focused on the crystal decanter full of 100 year old brandy that we never realized this.

We pulled a book down decided to look in two places for our culture. We knew what we’d find the bottom of our goblet. The book? Well, if it failed to sate our cultural giddiness, then we suppose it would make good kindling for the fire that Habib drew for us.

The Little Vagabond – Poem by William Blake. Explanatory notes by your friendly Barfly (jeeze Blake, couldn’t you like, explain it yourself! Paraphrasing for the plebeians is so exhausting. Habib! Another Brandy!)

Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold,
But the ale-house is healthy and pleasant and warm;
Besides I can tell where I am used well,
Such usage in Heaven will never do well.

Mammy! Mammy! It’s coooooldd in dat dere church! We’d much rather plop our ass on this cozy barstool than deal with “eternal salvation”. Boring!

Especially boring if Heaven is the type of place that rhymes “well” with “well”. Foolish verse with lazy rhymes? Not where we will spend our time (get it? because we rhyme good!). . .

But if at the church they would give us some ale,
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the live-long day,
Nor ever once wish from the church to stray.

Geeze church! If you’re going to keep nagging, you should just serve some beers after the watered down communion wine. We might stick around for some karaoke. And, if you compliment our soulful rendition of “Life is a Highway” we suppose that maybe you’d be able to talk us into going to this Heaven place. They serve drinks there, right?

Then the parson might preach, and drink, and sing,
And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring;
And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,
Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.

The priest – dude - he’s like wasted! And us, we’re as tipsy as some simile involving birds! And that anorexic bitch that beats her kids (damn them for making her fat!)? She’d get drunky too!

And God, like a father rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as he,
Would have no more quarrel with the Devil or the barrel,
But kiss him, and give him both drink and apparel.

Like a good drunken grandpa, the old dude would look down and realize that we’re all as drunk as he is (we always knew he was – if not, then how do you explain this). He would be so happy, that he would pour his ostracized transsexual teenage grandson a Malibu bay breeze and buy him a new set of fishnets.

Footnotes:

1. Heaven – You may have to squint through your drunken eyes, but you’ll notice the H is capitalized. This is a literary device that indicates the place is not fictional. The reader can find similar examples throughout literature like Narnia, Hogwarts, and Israel.

2. Dame Lurch – Notice how the name indicates the character’s personality. Much like William Clever or Barfly Sexiest Drunk on Earth or in Heaven.

Ah culture! Being a God (you surely don’t expect a merely mortal Barfly to be doing something as omniscient as ‘blogging’), we’ve realized that we should take the moral of Blake’s springtime rhyme to heart. We suppose (if we must) that we love the commoners who hide in the glamorous milieu of our readership. We love you even better if you’ve been drinking in a religious place. And to bid adieu – both to you gentle reader and to our decanter of brandy – we leave you with a Barfly Blakeism:

The Little Charlatan, Isn’t He Adorable -

A judgmental stare, with endless talk of sin,

They say ‘try harder for heaven, right now you won’t get in.’

We roll our bloodshot eyes; it’s “yawn” to them we say.

Just bring a bottle over and for their souls we will pray.