the fool’s back pocket…

Everything is a spinning chair, and the landmarks have trails. Something like that is going on, a bunch of voices saying things that don’t make any sense, a bunch of voices on phones communicating, or at the very least, trying to. Is it supposed to be gibberish? Who the fuck knows? There was one person that might be worth consulting, but the process is so arduous it seems better to just stagger from moment to moment, hoping for the eventual road sign. It could be a selfless expression of unity, but it isn’t. Like a chorus repeating the bridge of a song, the same words echo down a hallway only to stop at one of the walls. Upon striking the surface it condenses from wave into dried ice, forming a slick sheet where the light dies and fades to a dim reminder of the bright form that used to shine.

Nothing about this new moment makes sense. I can’t read this manuscript for directions, so I’ll admire it for the beauty it might contain. All the while events intercede on my happy little existence, forcing someone else’s ethics onto my actions. The brew is hideous. Neither scent nor taste matches the golden color, another inside joke passed around like burnt out roach. Nobody wants to kill the thing, or admit they pulled the last bits of goodness out from under the group, so the charade goes on. Maybe forever, even though words that imply concepts like forever frighten the fuck out of me. Nothing is ever forever. As far as I can tell, each piece is another pane of glass or (to use the popular expression) another piece of the puzzle. I’m just scratching my head and trying to reconnoiter the borders of this piece. My hands are tied when trying to analyze without the context.

As the chair turns, the view changes repeatedly, consistently, a riff here or there on a subset of the action as a whole, but for the most part approaching dependability. There is something that can be trusted, something that compels deeper questions, flaked method subservient memory storing the results, able to compare on a small sample size as long as the requirements aren’t too severe. Hard work in a time capsule, left for later. I am secure in the knowledge that the very vessels of transfer, the choice words carved from the secret place where idolatry generates a super-being. The question seems bound by an indeterminate question of responsibility. I love it, it makes those racing for credit having to defend the very passion they so clearly exude when it is time to be judged by the slaves. The marketing department works overtime, and to balance the payroll, the logic division works only one day out of every five. (My guess is that they come in on Wednesdays, both for those minds most selfless as well as those most greedy.)

With that said, my opinions on the long term remain positive, while the short term must remain a net negative to anyone paying attention to the story of how a nation founded on an ideal must, and will, pursue that idea no matter where it goes. Stepping back from investor to casual observer is not highly recommended for most people, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t reasons to try. What difference does it make? Entire religions are founded on syllogistic logic. Nobody here is trying to start a religion! Wait, I like this song.

Having carefully considered exactly what was said during the previous twenty or so minutes, the verdict remains the same as it would have been even if the verbiage had taken us on a completely different path. In this case the journey doesn’t matter at all; an indictment as well as a liberation. Two distinct methods leading to the same end result. The next hour has got to be one of those quiet times where the humor is so thick that laughing out loud would be an insult. Much of the day was spent reviewing procedure; amidst the robotic reactions to continual stimuli was the realization that my own requirements had passed into the realm of reasonability. I have to stick to that story, because when my eyes start to open, everything starts to look ridiculous, like living in a dream world where it’s always dusk. Of course, that would explain a shitload of things. Deserves checking into. Later.