last stop

Skunk bonding

…have spent too much time  paring down to worry about where ideas come from. Don’t care where they been as long as you can pick up their tracks or their scent and follow along to where they take you. Mine take me short strolls or brisk little walks. I have no energy or longing to follow the same path for months or years on end. Either it holds no interest or I'm not that interesting. I don't know. But that would be the essence. And don’t be so conscious while in the act that you get in your own way. You are only the sail, and perhaps only a small one at that, but I’ve seen children in not much more than toy boats skimming freely across the water and maneuvering like gulls. Skills can flow through you, words thoughts, they flow through you – the sources, while at the same time common and categorical, are also infinite and inexorable. Hate. Love. Sex. Bonding. Aggression. Compassion, etc, and their sub-contexts…..

Do you want me to get into the sub-files and the lineage and branches thereof?

No, I’m trying to keep up with you while soaking in some of the current environment...and it’s not easy because you are sucking up the entire room.

Pardon the the intrusion of my disillusion. Go ahead. 

Take it all in. breathe it see it hear it reflect it – do your own mix, direct your own life. As you sense it, where you are at that moment. Observe with all your senses. It feeds back through you and is part of your arc and your flow.

Yeah, you’re right….I’m flowin’ …and hittin’ the head.

There you go – add “Bodily Function” to that list. Twenty minutes ago that was beer in a bottle. It all flows. 

the canyon

1 : 1  1

The One thing I remembered. Just now. There were three ‘ones’ – on the dashboard clock. It struck me, almost like a joke…it was late and I was tired and weirding out. I get that way – kinda goofy - then I crash.

…guess that wasn’t appropriate. Sorry.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know I was tumbling inside this can over and over and glass was flying. Got some in this eye, which is why the patch. Didn’t know I was bleeding. No idea, Too fast. Like waking up into a nightmare, you just don’t know. I thought I was alone. Never thought about Mike or anyone else. No time. That business about your life flashing? Bunk.

When we struck, we struck hard. Rock hard and bang that was it. Blackness with a whack.

Whatever happened next…whenever it was after that…there were some voices at some point, I heard but could not respond. I could think the thoughts, but not speak the words. Like I was locked in my own cell and everything I could hear was outside in the hall and no one could hear me screaming from inside the walls. Not feel my body.  Not feel my own pain. Then I was gone. That’s about it. Blank now for the past…what?…how long’s it been?…and now I feel the pain and need more drip…need the drip.

I don’t recall what I look like and I’m betting that it isn’t the same as before. That traction contraption drove me mad, I do know that. Torture. The tubes, the surgeries, the damn machines…the constant puff and whiff of oxygen. The beep….beep…beep…maddening inside my broken body…my fucked up head.

…sorry, I…

I hope you can bear looking at me. Am I grotesque from my wounds? I…I…hope you don’t find me ghoulish.

They need to make me a new face – not the same, my cranium rebuilt, new shape. They say they have a good woman in charge. I hope so. I’ll need the help.

Mike said he could do it and I believed him. He knows that canyon…he knew it…we blew it. Bad. 1:11. Oh, Mikey, what did we do?

They're out there

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.

In Final Gasps

As my body fails

And I go Code Red

There'll be one last thought

Going through my head:

Step a little closer

I simply ask

for one last 

grasp

of your 

precious ass

So that I 

may smile

as I pass

Amen.       

                 - anon.

n  o  t  a  c  o  g  n  i  t  o

Btm 9

The arrangements

had not been 

confirmed 
ahead

seems his agent 
had not made

Reservations,

but Errors

instead

and the Trip

was suddenly

not

going well

at all.

Lost not only

the baggage

the signal

the message

The memo

And the map

to Get Back

Lost all perspective

Lost the directive

Lost his reason-

ability

All sense of response-

ability

Somewhere

between 

here and there

Lost his will

His trust

His Ardor

His Lust

And finally

the Thrust
to step off