Heh, heh, heh. . . Who?

_ Howdy-do.
_ Who?
_ You.
_ Who? What? Where? When? Why? I laugh at the ‘why?’
_ Why not?
_ Why not? Right? Why the hell not? Who’s to say?
_ You?
_ What can possibly stop it?
_ Another question, perhaps? Another well thought-out  question might stop it; I just don't know what 'it' is.
_ Where is the place that is safe from change?
_ Here?
_ When did we come up with these strange assumptions/demands on a forever unknowable issuance - life?
_ Today?
_ We don’t know shit; we don’t know our name. Someone gave us some odd collection of syllables and called it ‘our name’...
_ Happy birthday.
_ ... Oh really? That’s my fucking name? That’s me? Like a dog, right? Rover, Champ, Spot... a name; something to distinguish me from the ‘couch’. Laddie Boy...
_ Howsaboy?
_ To each their own... their own world; their own time; their own birth and death... It's all much ado about nothing.
_ Howsaboy?
_ I sit here the culmination and conception of all that has ever been; of all that is yet to be. Seeing things for what they are and not for what I want them to be, I sit here. I sit here understanding the emotional carnage implicit in the continual fixing of ever-passing, ever-elusive phenomena into a static self ever in search of lasting satisfaction; ever in search of meaning. I'm filling sandbags with butterfly shit, fashioning a buffer against the rising tide of time, and yet I wonder why they just float away; far, far away... Does that answer your query ‘Howsaboy?’?
_ Oooo... the old double question mark. Somebody’s having a day...
_ How did we ever fashion such rigid, ill-fitting raiment out of nothing? It’s like an angry man laughing - heh, heh, heh - all the time. Yes... it’s like that.
_ Is the angry man old?
_ No.
_ Young? He must be young if he’s not old.
_ No.
_ Much ado about nothing...
_ Much.
_ Funny... not ‘heh, heh, heh’ funny, but funny nonetheless. Why no ‘How?’?
_ Bingo... the old double question mark. Wooo-hoooo! There’s no ‘W’ in how. That's why.
_ And how! Ring-a-ding-dang-do! Did you meditate this here morning?
_ Yeah. I cramped up pretty bad and focused on the ongoing implosion in the back of my thigh until it felt like the world was shattering.
_ Old school... Howsaboy?
_ Fine as frog hair... and you?
_ I’m here, ain’t I?
_ Beautiful... We are bountiful; we are beautiful; and the jewels we fetch, each their own, from the measureless depths of an unsounded ocean are worthy of a strong string, perhaps even a shiny chain.
_ Ever-passing, ever-elusive, ever in search of... much ado about nothing. Chai?
_ Chai. Chai?
_ Chai.

                                       <><><>

     ... Diamonds turn back to coal when the black cat strolls.

     ... George Harrison: Living In The Material World, a documentary by Martin Scorcese, premieres in two parts, on HBO, Oct.5 & 6. Can you take me there?

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