Don’t Let Them Dick Your Soul Around
Well, some say yes,
some say no
Some say hey man,
I just don’t know
I say man, he’s going to be-lieving you hanging from a tree
So whatever people’s saying
Don’t you let them dick your soul around
Cuz we’re rolling into Memphis
And got no time to fuck around.
Well I get up,
And you get down.
Both of us here,
just dancing around
No matter what you do,
don’t let them dick your soul around.
Cuz we’re rolling into Memphis
And got no time to fuck around.
Hey, some go fast,
Some go slow,
Some folk don’t have no place to go.
But Lord Jesus,
don’t let them dick your soul around.
Cuz we’re rolling into Memphis
And you got no time to fuck around.
Some say God,
Some say Not,
Some say money’s all they got.
But it don’t matter what you worship,
Cuz its only plastic idols laying around.
And with change in your pockets, you’ll get home just fine,
Long as you don’t skip this line.
But whatever you do baby, don’t let them dick your soul around
Cuz we’re rolling into Memphis
And got no time to fuck around.
Some say this
Some say that
Some want you to wear some kinda hat.
But that ain’t nothing but a lid,
To keep inside, what’s in your head
So don’t be raising no rabbits up there
Whatever you choose to be, wear:
Don’t let them dick your soul around
Cuz we’re rolling into Memphis
Ands got no time to fuck around.
I’m telling you, sweetheart,
You can’t let them fuck you around.

Igor Goldkind© 2024
October 20, 1024
Edited by Miles Krogfus
Momma’s Boy
Anaphora for Margarita Zuniga Chavaria.
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy.
Momma gave me my name.
After a passionate afternoon.
Sun streaming through the blind
My daddy on top of her
Thrusting his bow to the strings
of Stravinsky’s joyous rights of Spring
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m My momma’s boy.
Sucking warm milk and egg from a plastic nippled bottle
Eating the peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwhichs
She made to watch over me at the school cafeteria
No sloppy Joe’s for me
I’m a momma’s boy.
I’m my momma’s boy.
Dinner on the table
Daddy gobbling his food
Momma serving her family
Loving her family with her food

I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
Daddy punched his fist through the living room wall,
My momma plasters over
Daddy cries at night
While momma holds his head in her hands
Ignoring the bruises on her cheeks.
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
She slaps the faces of the mocking boys
My daddy tells me to ignore
As they kick me on the lawn
Green grass staining jeans like blood
I’m a momma’s boy
She’s my vengeful angel
Who stares policemen in their eyes
I’m My momma’s boy
When she stands behind me
Telling teachers
To love her boy
Telling authorities
To ignore her boy
Telling Doctors
To heal her boy.
Walking 5 miles through the hot sweating jungle to fetch ginger ale for her little boy
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
When I wake up in the hospital bed
When I see her tears stream down her face.
When I see my sister’s scared eyes.
When I know like a freight train that I made the biggest mistake of my young life.
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.

I’m a momma’s boy
When I catch a glimpse
Of her cleavage
Through the curtain of her night dress.
When I see her clutch her dress to her breasts
Ignoring my childish gaze
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
Even when she closes her studio door
And I beg her and beg her to come and play with me
She kisses me on the top of my head and smiles
Then closes her magic door, anyways.And I cry and I cry pounding my tiny fists against her magic door.
How can there be something other than me that she loves more ?
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.
I’m a momma’s boy
When daddy moves out
I stay with her
When she cries I hold her head
In my hands, on my shoulder while her shoulders shake
In the only love in the universe that will never leave me.
Even when momma’s mind leaves me.
Even when momma’s breath leaves her
Even when her eyes leave me
To close forever.
Momma never leaves me
She never, ever, never ever leaves me.
Momma was more Man than me or daddy will ever be,
I’m a momma’s boy
I’m a momma’s boy.
Always was.
Always am.
Always will be.

~ Thursday Morning, 5:00 am, October 2024
Igor Goldkind ©2024
Venus, the Goddess of Love
L’Amour
My Goddess of Love and Beauty.
I worship her in my temple altered by booze
and sentiment.
I love her like a Goddess,
Which she is, of course.
I just wish she noticed me more often
And didn’t expect me to always pick up the bill
When she leaves.
Love feels just like an affliction,
I can’t get enough of.
Like a bad cough, it’s persistent
She does tickle my voice
But then always leaves my throat raw with what she promised
And never intended to deliver.
C’est l’amour; toujours, c’est l’amour
Don’t You Ever Let Nobody Drag Your Spirit Down!
Once again, I have been slurred by a coward.
Someone, remaining anonymous, has warned a dear friend of mine to beware of me as I exhibit the behavior of a “Dangerous Narcissist”.
My friend is too cowed to tell me who it is or what they said exactly but once again I am confronted with the innate back stabbing cowardice that too often typifies southern California character; or lack thereof.
To quote Kamala Harris, “if you have something to say, say it to my face”!
But I am fascinated as to how the over–therapized California resident has misappropriated actual medical vocabulary to use to further their personal spiteful agendas.
Narcissism, from the greek myth of Narcissus, is a specific mental health condition that has to do with a fixation on the self at the expense of other “healthy” relationships. As any qualified therapist would tell you, as with most mental conditions, everyone exists on a spectrum. It’s not a black or white proposition. You’re not either a Narcissist or NOT a Narcissist; but rather we all exhibit Narcissistic tendancies. The diagnosis comes about when the tendency becomes so intense or acute that the individual is impaired in their otherwise “normal” social relationships.
In my instance specifically, it took me decades of meditation and self reflection to come to a point where I could admit to loving and caring for and about my Self. Having been tormented as a child, often times violently so, for my Russian heritage name of Igor, I had assimilated a strong impulse towards self loathing. In actually believing that the reason I was such an object of derision and hostility from my peers was somehow, ‘my fault’ and due to a failure on my part.
Two factors remedied this.
One was to leave the country.
As soon as I moved to Europe and a Gallic centered society. My name did not change but it’s social value did. Instead of being endlessly teased as a “monster” out of a horror film or later out of Mel Brook’s comedic interpretation of Frankenstein, (great film, btw), instead people identified me for what my name really meant: an indication of my Russian heritage.
Both my father’s parents immigrated from Poland and Russia in the early part of the 20th century. My mother named me Igor in tribute to my heritage, that of refugees escaping pogroms and anti semitic prejudice.
In Europe, my name has a good currency value. The second change from self loathing and self doubt to self acceptance was my readings into Buddhism, particularly the work of the Japanese scholar and translator, DT Suzuki and his 3 volume opus on Zen Buddhism. Alan Watts and Christian Humphries also helped. When I took my book learnt knowledge and applied it and actually started to regularly meditate, the toxic social poisons I had inadvertently assimilated began to dissipate.
Ultimately it was poetry that brought me to my senses between pariah and ‘attractor of beautiful European women’. Walt Whitman taught me to love and celebrate myself, my body, spirit and mind in his seminal Leaves of Grass. To anyone who has ever suffered from the imposed self loathing that comes with attempting to conform to an oppressive, Protestant mediocrity, I suggest re-reading I Sing the Body Electric.
In this celebratory prayer to self love and the celebration of the self, Whitman touches us with an eternal universal truth: that we are all not just worthy of Love but are the very source of Love.
Our bodies ARE Electric, super charged with the beauty of Being.
We are already super heroes, capable of extraordinary acts of heroic kindness.
My self love is not a superior love. On the contrary, I love myself simply and precisely because I am not better than anyone else. Because of the fact that we are all equally beautiful as the bright, shining magical creatures that human beings are.
Upon my return to my native land, I carried this self certainty with me as well as try to share the self realization with others. Unfortunately, my taunters of childhood are still here and their self limitations makes them target me as arrogant, self aggrandizing and yes, Narcissistic.
I remind myself that these are their failings, not mine.
A social, shared neurosis.
However, the hostility and down right abusive treatment persists and I must stand firm in the gail of human avarice, clutching my self–worth to my breast and holding my head up in the self-knowledge that to love myself is not to love anyone else less, and is tribute to a very human humility, not superiority.
In fact, to love yourself is not Narcissism, it is a state of humility of awe and wonderment at the nature, the body and the spirit each of us actually are and too often forget to recollect to our competitive lives.

And that, my friends, is the rest of my story.
To quote Eric Bibb:
Don’t Ever Let Nobody Drag Your Spirit Down
Full Lyrics:
You might slip, you might slide, you might
Stumble and fall by the road side
But don’t you ever let nobody drag your spirit down
Remember you’re walking up to heaven
Don’t let nobody turn you around
Walk with the rich, walk with the poor
Learn from everyone, that’s what life is for
And don’t you let nobody drag your spirit down
Remember you’re walking up to heaven
Don’t let nobody turn you around
Well I might say things that sound strange to you
And I might preach the gospel, I believe it’s true
I won’t let nobody drag my spirit down
Yes, I’m walking up to heaven
Won’t let nobody turn me around
You might slip, you might slide, you might
Stumble and fall by the road side
But don’t you ever let nobody drag your spirit down
Remember you’re walking up to heaven
Don’t let nobody turn you around
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