Aspiring with Skunk:
This is my thought process. I
say to myself….
“You are not thinking for a moment that each tap of your
finger tip is a sacred gesture in scribing the scrolls of your existence do
you? You are not the second coming, you are not even the second drop. In this
day in this moment, this nano-moment your tap is buried, your thought swept
away in the Wash of a digital current so enormous your perception cannot wrap
it’s legs around it. Ludicrous, as it may seem that blip you just streamed is
not a reality, not a physicality, only a beta burp in the torrential bubble
stream. Your jeweled observation, less inconsequential than a sow bug being
washed down the sewer. Your insights, your vision, your wisdom, is the same
muse that brings a rooster to shit. Inconsequential.”
Is this a monologue or a dialogue?
“You are not charring the bone,
nor grinding the dye with which to stain cave walls for a posterity that has no
connection, not hammering the stone to etch your tome in rock that too,
crumbles. Wash. Wash clean the orb, at once pristine, now void by necessity. Your tip taps. The jazzy little
apps. What is that? Don’t delude yourself. There is no substance, there is a
dearth of substance, we are gelatin in skin sacks, yet we spew a massive
residue, flushing the channels of consciousness, washing away our genius in the
trash, barely a scrap, the lash of a gnat, headed over the falls. It all flows
together, bits and bits and bits and bits of nothing flowing, but a fractal sperm fallacy, as
the finality is simply a plug in the wall.”
( = ) =D---------- < - doodle
“Go ahead, I say. Plunge. Don’t let me gird your flow, but to
think you exist in that space and that it matters, is much too far to go, and
the minute you’re gone is your lifetime.”
We grow quiet as we ponder (fart)
and order another round.
“In the back of my head someone is playing Silent Night
on the tuba, deliberate and somber, like a recital. Do you ever get that?”
I get ball-games.
“That’s not bad...”
Depends on the game. I also get some Big Bands. I think I’m
picking up frequencies from old radio shows. That’s my theory, anyhow.
I tend to agree, They're out there somewhere.
