flattery will get you nowhere…

Luckily, I’m pretty sure this is nowhere. The morning breaks cool before the sunlight chases those lower temperatures off the mountain into the sea. When it warms up, I can stagger-stand face-to-face with afternoon breezes blowing Westward across the country. All we got is the wind, so be sure to treat it with the same enervating respect as it treats us. Yes my child, that’s a joke. The punchline is the same as for every other joke told about a sunny day. It only lasts as long as the laughter does. Funny, but only provincially. Aim higher. Shoot the shit; that’s what it’s there for.

Playing at being a poet is not really that hard; at least not for me. Playing at being anything else is beyond question impossible; everything comes out poetry, whether a stitch in time or flesh. Being almost totally convinced that none of this really matters makes things less serious somehow. Even if the whole thing is a joke at my expense, I can laugh as easily as anyone else can. We’re all equal here. I can see it now. A calm man with a hand on fire, calmly placing the burning flesh in a vat of water to stop the heat. What’s left is not bone, as it would be in the funny papers, but melted skin and boiled blood. Not a word. Not a word.

So, starting with such imagery on what was not a bad day (at least not in the shared-use sense of the term…) ain’t really a problem. There’s enough other shit going on in the background to consume three minds, but all that shit has to be ignored for a moment while I play around with an old idea turned 59 degrees to the right. The glint is all different in this light; you can thank the sun for that. With the windows all opened and the sliding door slid, the cool winds blow around this place. I can deal with the drop in temperature. I want to blow out the lived in feel of this room and start over. New scents for brand new times, that kind of thing. Getting the picture is ever easier, if ever more fraught with misconception. Too many people talking means nothing gets said, and that is usually the fault of the listener. Decisions have to be made, people cut off from access to the ears and mind. No use in the magnetic attraction of garbage noise.

Besides, the cool cool winds chill the burnt flesh, and like I said, I want to start over. No sense letting all the old feelings get attached to the hips or spine; they’ll just rot and stink up the room. Exactly the opposite of the point of this whole exercise. When I look around, it takes a minute to try and ignore any repetitious images. Whatever is new is probably unrecognizable, so I have to look pretty hard. In the midst of staring, all the moving shadows blown around the room as the wind plays games with whatever is in its way creates hands on the wall reaching out, and legs on the carpet walking away. Figure that one out! I have a few ideas but no reason to share them. Keeping counsel to the self is one of those things I always took to be SOP, but evidently, for most people, that isn’t the case at all. If they are bleeding, they wanna tell you all about it. Unbe-frigging-lievable. No wonder Superman had his Fortress Of Solitude. And if fucking Superman needed a fortress, what chance do the rest of us have?

Batman’s sister still works toward the same idealized romance as ever. You can’t help but share some concern over what will happen when she finds out all that work to be different doesn’t accomplish anything. Drink up little girl, you have a long way to go until you find out you end up about three feet to the left of where you start. Even that movement can be traced back to the movement of the universe around you. Talk about uncomfortable moments! Throw in the Tallman working on raising a whole passel of kids and the Marquessa trying to find reverse on the gearshift so she can get the car out of the driveway and things get more complicated. It is in the midst of such cacophony that peace and quiet has to be found. It ain’t like time is going to slow down or stop. Finding out the reasons things are as they are is more like untangling the Gordian Knot than I would have imagined, but I like to think I have more imagination than Alexander (even if he ran a lot more of the world and slew a lot more people for fun and profit.)

So it’s Harry Nilsson for the win. Not a bad thing, and my mood has improved substantially over the last 48 hours. I can’t claim any active participation in the scene, just better results. I can live with that. Greed of control was something I gave up a decade and a half ago. It kept getting in the way of my enjoyment of this lifelong movie and simultaneous radio broadcast running the duration of existence. The emotional output is staggering, if you stop to think about it at all. Most people don’t seem all that interested, which explains why these little screeds draw so little in the way of discerning attention. And if you think that’s an accident, you obviously don’t know me that well. Laugh, it’s ok… that was a joke after all. Can’t win for losing these days. There are cigarettes and diet coke for lunch (or breakfast. If you eat the first meal of the day at 3 p.m., does it count as lunch or breakfast? I have never been able to solve that riddle. It does give me something to think about during the boring scenes, so it ain’t all bad.)

This is what happens when you keep locating the importance in the journey rather than the destination. If it doesn’t matter where you’re going, why not just move around randomly and with no eye towards conclusion. Fuck me, I forgot, we already do that. Ha! If we were half as evolved as we like to think we are, questions like those wouldn’t be such a problem. Throw it on the pile of other problems; I think there is still some genocide going on in a few spots around the globe. Maybe we should get that stopped first? No? It ain’t our problem? That’s good to hear, but I can’t lie, that really makes it sound like a few of us are right fucked. Sorry about that. It’s not really my fault, but for the moment, it’s the best that I can do. Get me? What this day really needs is a sermon. Perhaps later, for now there are still whales to skin and bunny rabbits to track. Somehow, I have to believe this is all the fault of Trowell. What else is new?

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