the fool’s back pocket…

None too subtle thoughts striking out from a sunless morning. Much of it was spent smoking cigarettes on the porch, attentively watching as the seconds ticked by. There wasn’t much of a choice to be made; I could look out over a tired and gray neighborhood, or I could focus on the fantastic bespoken wild that ambled by in yips and fits. The late morning sky welcomed the early afternoon without much of a protest, and the day kept coming on. My situation spoke beseechingly of condensation on a massive scale, dominating the end of the morning with its largess, preparing to apportion the ground with water tossed down from the sky. From this archaic point of view, the power of the great outdoors seemed almost original in the complexity of the process’ leading towards rain. Here on the concrete foredeck, I’m humbled by the methods of domination. Out here, exposed to the idea of enormity under the careful kiss of a blessed day time rolls towards the commitments and responsibilities of a temporal soul. Here in the present is the essence of now, finding its true path expressed as a series of cloud formations and darkening skies. As the dichotomy breaks down between between simple analogies, fear fails to take hold even as the shapes in the sky bedeck some unknown storm. It is the cold comfort of life in some permanent eye of a hurricane. Everything is constantly coming soon; tensed in anticipation for what might take any amount of time to show. As the clock tries to turn, the breath of the wind pushes it back, counter-clockwise to progress.

These experiences are physically brought to bear on the worries and fears that crop up over foolish flip-flops. I spent hours scrubbing my picture from a wide variety of disseminated locales, blinding myself to the rationale that a picture suggests anything more than than a frozen moment in time. For reasons quite past understanding, I felt the strong urge to strike out and reorder the clues left behind by a much younger personage still trying and failing to understand that even Pyrrhic victory can have its spoils. So many times I have to remind myself that context and locale are simply two more variables that can be altered in an almost unlimited number of ways and means. For the millionth time this lesson has been forgotten, then found, then expounded upon, only to be lost again when the true power of the realization would be at its most valuable. Oftentimes this whole narrative must be repeated to find the full range of possibilities available to the commoner at large. Anyone could do it. Maybe everyone does. Language does not convey this type of epiphany as well as imagery. That is a fucking shame, because all I have at my disposal are the building blocks of paragraphs. Is that art, or something else entirely?

While all of these rambling thoughts occupy the majority of my attention, I leave some available to watch the day converge and dissipate from my comfortable chair on the cement patio. Various cars wander in and out of the parking lot at my feet, alternatively coming and going with a cargo of kids and groceries, or perhaps sports equipment, or maybe old just the detritus that grows in volume as time goes by. From here, it all looks somewhat similar, and for relief I cast my glance towards the sky and wonder about the people sitting in the airplane passing overhead. It’s no trouble to imagine sitting amongst the passengers and eagerly awaiting the impending arrival. Hundreds of strangers sharing only a destination. Ha! They say politics makes strange bedfellows.

But for a moment, their cause would be the same as mine as we all prepared to deboard the plane and scatter to a hundred different locations in the greater metropolitan area. It’s easier than you might think to find an ally in this world. Something like that can be achieved rather simply by selecting the proper cause. Now, take that logic and apply it to the greater problems of existence. As the mind wanders, it is guided by like patterns and occasionally non-existent suppositions based on a primordial glitch. The system almost works, a key determinant of probable success. With each passing adherent the word and the idea travel farther and wider. The image is similar to an allegory of a leaf on a stream. When I look up, time hasw passed, the sun is higher in the sky, and without moving a muscle I’ve wandered from tertiary philosophy to dogmatic adjournment. It’s been a busy morning.

In the midst of frenzied thought and lackadaisical detente, another idea comes floating towards me. The cloud is nebulous in design and purpose, more an outline than flesh and blood. The feeling generated was reminiscent of the few glorious moments right before beginning a trip. Nervous excitement, sudden twitches, and all the feathers of the world suddenly weigh as much as bricks, flying through the air despite their new found girth. This kind of change could be dispiriting if you aren’t't ready to challenge a few of your preconceptions about existence. Could be downright terrifying, under the wrong auspices and metaphysics. Still, to be unencumbered with the carry-on bags that hold old pictures and hot air would feel divine, as well as letting us welcome this new and as yet undefined idea. Divinity in a carry-on and elucidation grasped in sweaty hands. Temporal settlement of aged claims.

All of this swirls and eddies as a rapid river fleeing down the continent. Somewhere in there are the clues and knowledge that would unlock something true out of the evidence assembled here and upstairs. Nobody seems to know if we’re all waiting for a savior or simply tracing arcs around the sun in an attempt to pin down the meaning of gravity. I ask plaintively, almost begging for some stranger to answer the call and explain the disjointed and often unfair aspects of the world around me. Nobody shows except a night watchmen making his rounds on the street below and an old hooker looking for another trick. The bars let out in a few hours, she’ll have better luck then.