george carlin is dead

it’s ok to prick your finger, but you can’t finger your prick.

i spent so many hours in my basement listening to his shitpissfuckcuntcocksuckermotherfuckerandtits album. i had a blacklight, a mildewy old couch and glopaint on the walls. this was before i started taking drugs or anything. it was 6th, 7th grade. george carlin was a great teacher. it was only as an adult, watching his HBO specials, that i realized how joycean he was. lenny bruce started it of course, but he ended up one of the martyrs. george carlin at least lived long enough to become an institution, which means that atheism and verbal hedonism have a chance of remaining where he put them, in public view. we have so few truth speakers. most of them were gunned down or killed themselves. this year we lost two more to old age, mailer and carlin. both men took immense pleasure in the forbidden. violating taboos is not something you do to make a point necessarily, but because it feels good. someone has to write on walls, say there isn’t a god and spend twenty minutes or so listing every euphemism for sex in the english language. it is the energy of words. the preposterous bouquets of sobriquets for penis, vagina, anus, flatulence, fecal matter, seminal fluid and menses. we are our senses but we are also our words. we build word worlds likes termites build mounds. we accrete meanings and meaninglessness. i’m sure i got my feel for poetic language from george carlin and bob dylan.