Who Are You?

_ Pictures... everybody's taking pictures...
_ Mugging for ze camaawwa, in francais.
_ Mugging for the camera?... Howsaboy?
_ Why you say that? Why do you say, " Howsaboy"?
_ It's what two guys, who’ve aged, say to each other after they’ve run out of shit to say.
_ Two guys?
_ White guys.
_ White? I've never seen anyone who is white. I think that would scare the shit out of me.
_ Well... let's say they've gone from little pink babies to somewhat gray around the gills.
_ Pink to Crayola gray; white.
_ It is breathing. Howsaboy?
_ If blowing up a little not knowing into a strangely arranged chaos is good, then I'm good.
_ We're beautiful, with or without the alphabet.
_ You're a comfort.
_ It is breathing. The sky... aloof; eyes gather it in.
_ It is breathing?
_ The funneling, indeed... from the imaginary to the mystery - life; all the while, through every conceivable nuance, it is breathing. Shall we?
_ Breathe?
_ Chai. Foamy; slightly sweet - not too; contingent.
_ Contingent?
_ Contingent... Howsaboy?

                                                                            <><><>

     ... A great vortex pulls us through countless lives, never moving.

     ... The impossibility of mathematics lies in the divisibility of the number one; countless lives, never moving - what he thunk.

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The Real Deal

_ Que pasa?
_ Everything and nothing; beauty and the beast; the seismic and the placid. What’s happening is what’s not happening.
_ You speak Spanish? Muy bueno... Did you walk here today?
_ Yeah. Walking is the only way I can relate to this world on a somewhat human level. Cars bring out the worst in us. I saw an Official Vehicle cruising the strip today.
_ What makes a vehicle an ‘‘Official Vehicle’?
_ License plates.
_ Maybe it was me...
_ Do your license plates say ‘Official Vehicle’?
_ No. They sport a random grouping of letters and numbers, along with a ridiculous image of something; I think it might be Elvis.
_ That is not an Official Vehicle.
_ I wasn’t on the strip anyway; I kept to the blue highways today - my inspection has expired.
_ I hate lemon meringue pie.
_ Talking with you is like waltzing on salt pork.
_ Raw eggs, rendered horse hooves, inflatable yellow number 5... a very painful situation.
_ What about banana cream pie?
_ Get me a bucket.
_ Garson... Two chais, one banana cream pie, a bucket and a quart of your best whiskey.
_ Whiskey? I thought you don’t drink.
_ I cry when people puke.

                                       <><><>

... I find it electrifying to steal a glance at a beautiful woman; and get caught.

... The 'untimely deaths' of noted figures over the course of history is history - actions don’t alter history, they are history. How is it we regard changes to an imagined future as being altering of the course of history? Reign in the wild child of mind through focused attentiveness upon what is; our stories are enslaving us. Rinse and repeat.

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Vexed

_ Are you going to stir something with that spoon, or just look at it?
_ Your mind... stirred; your world... stirred.
_ Your beverage... unstirred.
_ A spoon, when it's not holding all of existence within its huddle and atop its dome, is a personal security device second to none. If you hold one in front of you and look at its convex form you can see someone coming up behind you with a blunt object - a large, heavy, blunt object - from twenty feet away.
_ You have people after you?
_ We all do. The trick is to find that person and take the bull by the horns; wrestle them to the ground...  all while seeing the action in inaction, and the inaction in action. We do what can be done and don't do what can't be undone.
_ You're sweating profusely.
_ The profuselage shows that I'm ready.
_ You've curly hair... with what goes on in your head I'm surprised you have any at all; I'd have left a long time ago.
_ Curly hair is a lot like life: The longer it gets, the shorter it gets. Curly hair has curly roots, which tickle the brain, enlivening a most receptive organ.
_ I'm not so sure that I wouldn't mind someone massaging my cranium with a large, blunt, heavy object after this conversation... I'm going to stir my beverage with a fork.
_ Up periscope.

                                                                    <><><>

     ... The uniqueness of our lives is the only door to sameness that we have access to. Speak, and hear the words tinkle through unbounded silence. Sing the long song silent.

     ... Take two and swing away. Batter up!

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Furthermore

_ Still, it breathes; still, it darts through, without moving, the shards of your thoughts; your life.
_ My life?
_ It's all you, babe.
_ Babe? Who the hell do you think you're calling babe?
_ You, babe.
       The men tussle briefly, throwing haymakers and invectives. The owner looks on with disinterested fascination; he, too, understands the dynamic futility of all endeavor. He turns away as a table is overturned; someone has ordered a velour, the smoothest drink on the menu. As he grasps the handle on the machine, he thinks,
       " To our actions fully; as for the fruits... let them fall where they may."
       A saucer goes flying, crashing against the tile wall. It is neither saucer, nor flying, any longer. The men dust themselves off after their little dust-up.
_ Chai?
_ I think I'll have a velour.
_ Make it two.

                                                                   <><><>

     ... Every action is both an expression and a question.
 
     ... Old man, pink gone Crayola gray, rustily blinks his eyes; it makes no sense to cry any more.

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Elusive

_ Hummina, hummina, hummina.
_ Bow-bow-bow.
_ Fabulous, babe.
_ Absolutely...
_ It is breathing.
_ It, like you, is fabulous in its elusiveness; it is not breathing.
_ Faith is essential doubt, and should you have a grain of faith the proverbial size of a mustard seed - as spoken to by the Nazarene - certainty vanishes and life burgeons. It is breathing.
_ It is not breathing... shhh... it is breathing; essential doubt proven in its never to be doubted elusiveness. Faith breathes, never is it snared; the dark horse chasing the closed eyes of night.
_ Faith...
_ Faith.
_ Chai?
_ Bingo!

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     ... Love-struck, without a clue as to what it is.

     ... The diff between belief and faith is the same as the diff between the news and the weather.

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Irish Slide

_ The difficulty in life lies in what is not life.
_ The difficulties in here in what is not here.
_ Now in what is not now.
_ Howsaboy?
_ Fanfuckingtastic.
_ The infinite body has no body.
_ No no body.
_ No nuffin'...
_ I'll have a no nuffin' muffin with an essential dark roast. Eating at night, in no light, is the only known way to lose weight.
_ Providing it's dark enough that no one can see.
_ The essential dark roast of night, sipped in silence; the pupil of the madman's unblinking eye.
_ Really?
_ I tell no lies...
_ And Jim? James? Seamus?
_ A raving fucking lunatic who out-thunk the thinkers, out-stunk the stinking bastards who tried to poison our forever free-boy minds; they failed, and he impaled them on a sword of their own fashioning.
_ Joyce?
_ Is there another Jim worth mentioning?
_ Nope. They're all fucking crazy.
_ Tea?
_ Irish... the radiant mind of a mystic gathering sunshine at the tip of the Dingle peninsula.
_ George Harrison, had he been Jewish, would have been Irish.
_ To tea; to George; to the radiant love of the Self living in the heart of all.
_ Tea?
_ Irish?
_ English?
_ Jewish?
_ Indian?
_ Iced?
_ Chai?
_ Chai.

                                                                 <><><>

     ... The mind stands as a shadow-crafter; the Sun shines.

     ... Water - cool, not cold - mingles, and enlivens a weary spirit. Feel it feel its way home.

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The Weight of Rain

_ Where?
_ What?
_ Why?
_ Who?
_ Where. You speak of things never to be known.
_ Like what?
_ Yes, like what. We must rest.
_ Rest... you gotta rest.
_ The it’s back at it, to it...
_ It.
_ Go get ‘em.
_ Not while I’m listening.
_ That’s like resting.
_ Yes, only completely different.
_ Not in service... like a taxicab.
_ In service... like a bodhisattva.
_ Inhale serving exhale.
_ Fuck all in between.
_ Nothing.
_ Nada.
_ Chai?
_ Madam labors under the weight of the rain; bones fragile; safe to sail away. Twig tea.
_ Eddying.
_ Effortless.


                                      <><><>

     ... I wear earrings - one is Irish; the other is everything else including.

     ... Rain running, grimacing under its weight; she was over-dressed for one running in the rain.

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