A Perfect Purple

It takes true, inspired, outlandish genius to feel purple

To truly understand Red,
one must fully disassociate oneself from the horrors of politics & religion & absorb it with an unadulterated hedonistic pleasure.
Upon close examination, the average, often fear-laden man may feel a
vivid, uncomfortable comfortableness with the word “bloodlust”.
But we must graciously note Red’s prominence among all things instinctual.

“F” is a rarely employed letter and seems a vagrant for this reason.
Yet this all too human consonant provides
the genesis for our genetic genialities and grievances.
All brained beings,
from bards & babies to beetles & belugas,
act in accordance with 3 basic instincts:
Fight, Feed, and Fuck (or “fornicate”, for the less eloquent among us),
and view me an optimist or cynic,
I would contend that the two former are really branches of the latter;
Means to an end, if you will.
Ah, but they are kin as well in that they both,
at least among carnivorous beasts (beats and feast?),
result in bloodshed. Would one not then conclude that
fulfillment of lust is instinctually blood’s reward?

Red is
pure passion & dreaded desire; adamant anger & listless love;
brimming, blind bravery & ever-encompassing emotion:
those that cannot exist without the other.

Red is
ravenous rage, is steaming sensuality, amorous alacrity,
erogenous ecstasy, and most notably,
sex;
sweet sweaty sex, satiating sultry sex,
slow soft Sunday sex,
stalwart sticky summer starlight sex,
silly secret sofa her-parents-are-in-the-other-room seemingly still sex,
screaming stark-raving scary-to-anyone-who-might-be-listening sutra sex…
Alright red, that’s enough now, you’re making me blush!



Let us cool off, calm down, sit back, relax, and kick off our Bluets.

It doesn’t get any slicker that Blue. Blue is slicker than dish oil on ice.
Blue fucks with you. Blue walks into the room
and you are so amazed by his slickness that you feel downright giddy,
and then immediately reprimand yourself for being
bubbly like a catholic school girl at Jesus’ Revelation Tour.
And in the presence of Blue, no less!

But why is Blue so slick, you may ask?
Well let me show you how that question’s very existence is a statement to Blue’s power.

Blue has taken over Sky & Sea and even steals its way into the bedrooms of
defenseless, sleeping baby boys all across this country and no one is alarmed!
Blue has usurped the throne in the land of paradox too.
It’s mighty hard to look at Blue skies and feel awfully Blue.
Blue is passive & distant & reasoned, but is worn by angry, violent, power-drunk cops.
It’s somehow both tropical and arctic.
Blue, with all its rationality, its wisdom, its serenity,
was employed as sole name of a whole genre of music,
music based purely on emotion,
on sexuality & spite & scorn that should truly be called the “Reds”.
(This smooth duping may account for some of Red’s anger issues)

We love Blue, even though we know Blue doesn’t love us.
I think mostly because it’s just nice to be around so slick a bastard.

Purple must have been warned.
Self-absorbed Yellow & Self-righteous Green
surely tried to talk Purple out of the plan.
But Proud Purple knows greatness, perhaps more than anything else.

So Purple set up the meeting.
Preparations and precautions were perhaps postulated.
But Purple’s sagacity provided that so momentous a pairing of pigments
wants not a hand from subtlety.
There was no beating around the bush with these two.

When you throw so volatile a color as Red into a room with a bad motherfucker like Blue
…well, I couldn’t come close to representing the reaction with words
as Purple does just by making an
appearance

We may never know what happened in that room.
Did they Feed? Fight? Fuck? Play Clue?
Gossip about that slut Pink? Sing Hannah Montana Songs?
In the end it matters not. Only that they walked out as one, ideal in all ways.
Equal parts thinking & feeling, rash & calculated,
boiling & freezing, confident & confused.
Always smiling, always winking,
always sexy & flirtatious, but never creepy & perverted.

Not an apple or an orange.
No, you don’t give these to class, or youth soccer teams,
these plums, these eggplant, these passion fruit,
these givers of wine and succulence.
No it takes a refined tongue to taste purple,
and a refined soul to feel it.

Ah but for those who can…Life is a perfect Purple.