the fool’s back pocket…

Ah yes. That’s it. Forgive the speculation that this little diatribe means anything more than a chance to catch up with whatever the fuck has been going on the last few weeks. Like bursting through the waterline, consciousness intrudes on the ever so pleasant trip between triage and emergency room. Still, I can’t lie. Its had some moments of genuine enjoyment, and a few of appalling deprivation, but that could have been anybody. The logic for dumping it out and starting all over with a new bag of tricks and some folksy wisdom from the road is clear. Nope. Nothing doing here, just ignore the indications of torment. Breath deep through the nose once. All better.

Is this the trick day? The trick day is the day you think things are getting better but really they’re just taking a short idyll from getting worse. Leaving aside notions of worse being better or better than worse being as good as better than ever, something else shines through. I’m not betting badly, all things considered. Not like it ain’t an opinion question anyway. It has all the pleasure of a semantic argument, which is to say, none at all. Money’s money, and I suppose a little more of it couldn’t hurt, I’m not so sure how it would help either. Do you notice when you sleep on a nicer bed in a better apartment while your better car sleeps in your better garage and your better weather doesn’t beat the windows like the neighbors sub-woofer banging against thin walls? Ha ha ha. Woofers and tweeters. (If that joke needs explaining, you are probably too young to be reading this. Go shut your eyes and slam your head into a doorway five or six times as penance. Then don’t come back. Yes, come back.)

It’s getting to the pretender point on maximum goody-goody thoughts and gumdrop kisses and the rest of the sparkly horseshit everyone so loves. Aren’t they precious, hon? Oh, aren’t they just? The whole sickening display makes me worry about diabetes and oral cancer. While the calls for money keep coming, my life turns into some approximation of Groundhog Day. Each day, the conversation is the same. You’d think they would have figured it out by now. I keep telling them that one of these days, everything will be different, but I don’t think they believe me. I’m stumped as to whether that makes them cunning adversaries or simply unctuous retards. I lean towards the second. We’ll have to see if the patient man can teach us anything about waiting for the right moment in time to move.

I could spill a few thousand words about the waiting, but they probably wouldn’t impress upon the mind how central the concept has become. “Nothing lasts forever” is the only kind of logic that seems to make any sense AND provide the requisite hope to get through the moment and maintain in any kind of larger sense. I’d forget it all if I didn’t write it down, and even then I reckon it’s at most a pale impression of the colors that nobody else seems to be able to see. Just another in a long line of unanswered questions. Ha! “We’ll always have Paris.” (More laughter, stupid grin.) What does that even mean? The same thing it used to, only moreso.

Aside from Casablancan gestures and wordplay, I suppose at long last I am forced by factors far beyond my power to control that I may have bitten off more than I can chew when it comes to the occasional good time. Damn clear headed bastard always shows up to make things murky. That would explain all the apprehension. How the fuck does anyone ever make a decision about anything in this world? That’s the paradox of anything and everything. You want so you get so you keep so you expand so you protect so you acquire so you brag so you inspire so you reap so you can sow. Am I really the only one who has a problem with that statement? For fucks sake, I’m surround by pigs and they all look like people. Orwell was right. Pink Floyd was right. The signs are all there, flashing and blinking and screaming HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU NOT SEE THE PROBLEM WITH FOREVER EXPANSION??? Nobody is that stupid, I can only assume it is an intentional bias, like the argument that we can see everything that exists. This would be a great time for the lord of the sky to make an appearance. Must be something awry in the control booth. The sign’s off for now.

That nervous laughter coming from the wind through the shitty door that I left open again. When I get stung again, it just might be my fault. I still won’t take the credit, but cosmic laughter from hereafter says the postman always rings twice but the wasp will land on your finger and sting it without ringing once. You know what means?

It’s us against the entire universe. (That is the logical end of dualism, right?) How silly is that? Like the universe would even notice. (Even if we won.) Those are terrible odds. Give it up. I did, and I think it makes me a wiser man.