Sever The Ties That Bind

_ A new morning gone... another new morning is forever gone. Was it ever here?

_ It never knew that it was new; it never knew that it was morning. It never knew that it was naught but an aging masquerade; a hag, called so by a vengeful echo.

_ Bong...

_ The clock has just struck twelve, somewhere. I've lost count and think it's three... three for every man, woman and child. We two remain imprisoned.

_ I was thinking more of a smoke - an eye-opener. Bong hits for Jesus - the host is smokeable. I was thinking of page one, line one in How To Cope With Change: " Bongward, lads and lassies..."

_ Too obvious. What about a pipe?

_ Turn around. Look at me...

_ I am looking at you.

_ You could still turn around... Either way, I've a new lover. She is one of the ancients - indeed the ancients are as newborns to her. She is Death; and it is to her the ancients crawl. She calls me to bed after the Sun has set. My every nerve longs to curl up with her. What we share puts human relations to shame. I curl up with her and she combs through my mind with her razor-like fingers. She is no virgin and knows no rust. I can hear the taut strings of memory snap as her blade passes through the tethers of mind-stuff. She knows that I belong to her. Bit by bit she severs all ties, all memories, all thought of another. I sleep, and she holds me; I awake, and she is there. She calls to me upon the setting of the Sun. Her voice is music and silent. All else is noise.

_ Nice of you to find the time for chai.

_ Is that not the Sun coursing through the sky?

_ You are the consummate bullshitter. It's like the 60's... if you remember them, you weren't there. I'm no longer sure about yesterday. In fact if it weren't for the wrinkles in my clothes I'd think otherwise... differently. I'd perhaps think that yesterday was a lie; but then again my clothes are wrinkled, and it all had to happen somewhere. There must be some vessel in which this all is contained. Is it yesterday? Yes, it must be yesterday. Indeed it it weren't for the fact that my clothes are wrinkled I would dispute any claim laid upon me by yesterday, but as I awoke I couldn't help but notice that my clothes were wrinkled, and they weren't when I put them on.

_ The inviolate past... Mirror, mirror on the wall... Is there any other sort of mirror besides a rearview mirror?

_ Fatso's dead. He's in the rearview mirror.

_ Indeed he is. How we struggle against the inevitable. I do hope that if he suffered he did so quietly. He was always given to over the top displays regarding the most trivial of things. And what could be more trivial than any one person's death? I know that I am going to die. I just don't need to be reminded of it on a continual basis. Who need be reminded of one's own date with the never to be known? We live off-white, and we're heading for dark wood everywhere. I, personally, prefer not to think about it; I, personally, enjoy off-white.

_ Think about what?

_ Dying. I don't want to look in the boxer shorts of the world and see the skidmark of another's dying. I'll sniff God's hole when I have to. I'm not going to think about it.

_ How do you not think about something?

_ Think about something else.

_ One thought not thinking about another. A one-legged man going for a short walk - again. The eternal recurrence...

_ Doolang is gone, so gone as not be here. Do you hear me? And he is unforgettable.

_ It's impossible talking to you. I swore I would stop drinking and here I am drinking.

_ It's only chai.

_ It doesn't matter. It's you that's the problem.

_ I can't argue with that. Do you want some vanilla extract in that chai. An eye-opener?

_ Doolang?

_ Yes. You remember.

_ It's all I do... remembering is all I do, all I am. Who is Doolang?

_ A memory. He was always just a memory. I heard his string 'Pop!' last night.

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... The halcyon days have tucked back under the waves. Will they ever return?

Cool Water

_ The things you can do with a hot dog...

_ What about removing the ham from a ham samitch? Easy enough, right?

_ Right as rain, my very good friend. Thank you for your consideration in dismissing me.

_ Dismissed... nothing could compare to being dismissed from school... How I hated school; it's a wonder I've survived as long as I have in this strange, strange world.

_ You must be a sannyasin.

_ A one-man platoon of buffoons; each thought a new king. That-a-way, boys! They went... What's the diff, right? What's the diff which way anyone goes? It's all so effin erfect.

_ How do you spell 'Johnny'?

_ It depends on how I feel. And how I feel depends on a whole boatload of things. Did you know that how I feel just might depend on how you feel?

_ How, or what?

_ However; whatever; whomever; if ever... If ever I would leave you it wouldn't be in Springtime...

_ Bobby! Baby! Booby! Where have you been, kid?! Sausage crisp! May your piggly's be wiggly from now until forever. Howsaboy?

_ Bobby ain't here. He's riding with the top down; the leading edge of what is commonly known as a guillotine has a fresh coat of red. When did it become acceptable to talk about the weather?

_ Right after the first scream resolved into silence. This has yet to happen so if you talk about the weather you're either ahead of your time, or you have yet to receive the memo.

_ What memo?

_ You, too, must die.

_ Nice. I'm thinking of naming myself Earvin Erfect.

_ And a nickname?

_ Nick Name, private I.

_ How about Bakers Eddy?

_ Will I still have to die?

_ Yes.

_ Nick Name - Private I; investigating how we traded the sacred for the profane; and how we came to think thought that we got the better of the deal.

_ Interesting... for about half of a second - one. I know of one group of people who think that if they were to stick an ice-pick through their eardrums they wouldn't be bored anymore.

_ Well they had better hurry up because it's not like there's a display of ice-picks at Best Buy.

_ Interesting that you should mention Best Buy. That is where the ceremony is going to take place... They're going to do it in the ear-bud aisle.

_ Next to the cauliflowers?

_ Yes, the next universe over.

_ Very interesting. Is there a world order? Am I missing out on something?

_ Yes, it's random; and yes, you are. Check your shopping cart before you check out, and exit the store screaming.

_ Is this random world order reminiscent of re-wrapped rotten meat.

_ Rotten... having completed the process of rotting. Never, I say! What would we have to look forward to? Meat never stops rotting. Think showering; think soap; think deodorant; think perfume; think left-handed compliments; think reincarnation - a new flower, rotting.

_ There's people at the next table talking about the weather.

_ They're idiots; they don't have a command over the alphabet. Lost in a lost world, right at home.

_ I'm an idiot.

_ I know that.

_ How would you know?

_ Because I'm an idiot, too. Nice day, huh?

_ Beautiful... the second nicest day ever.

_ Which one was first?

_ All the others tied for first.

_ You're an idiot.

_ I know. Chai?

_ Here my stomach's thinking that my throat has been cut. Indubitably.

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... I wonder what Yoko Ono is doing this very moment.

... Self-importance. It's like skin.

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Unibrow

_ Sustainability and sacrifice; soft-shoe shufflers; showering before bed; taking a series of deep breaths; walking East until your hat floats; doing something for yourself; dying with money in the bank; having money in the bank in the first place.

_ Relinquish all conditions of existence.

_ 'Among fishes I am the shark; among rulers I am Death...'

_ Simplicity is always an option.

_ No it isn't. Simple is complex. I have a China plate resting on the sidewalk. Perhaps you passed it on the way in. It is prior to options; it is of  royal lineage. The first dog, cat, bird, bug or person who drops the deuce on it gets a free crueller. Pointless - like mine friend Dostoevsky. Straight lines are crooked; a progression begs regression. I would sooner be wrapped tight in shrink-wrap then to stand stymied by yet another "You are here" sign. I long for the end of longing. Do lovers use mirrors?

_ It's the past's fault. The past will tell you that - it's all there is. Some call it suffering - being crushed beneath a wheel. Lies, lies and more lies; the past lies.

_  Coffee?

_ Coffee?

_ Yes. It's good for you.

_ The past is the only present you'll ever know. You didn't know that, did you? Well now you do. It's good for you, like an echo. Tell me, are there still little babies in the world? Little babies waiting for us to save them from themselves? Wheeled around tony neighborhoods - nice ta-ta's; very nice ta's. The stroller strolling, strolling, gone; there are now cup-holders and built-in mittens on strollers. I'm never not sure how to act, thus I cause a lot of what is commonly referred to as trouble, especially when I am out on the stroll, my pants in high water mode.  Should I smile pleasantly? Or maybe turn my head just in time to see a dog take a shit on the promenade.

_ Have a coffee; it's good for you.

_  I consider myself blessed. To be - it's effortless; a work in progress. I'm just one grain of sand away from 'here'; and contained within that one distant grain of sand is every other grain of sand.

_ The reason why Jones Beach is so famous is not because of Jones, but because it contains amongst all its seemingly infinite grains of sand, the original grain of sand; some skeptics say it is, in fact, a breadcrumb. But what do they know? They're ditch-diggers, Bobby.

_ Bobby's not here.

_ It's a sunny day in May...

_ May the day never come.

_ ... and the rest of the day to you. And near everyone is laughing, happy, talking, smiling. And I?... I laugh the best for I laugh last - I often don't get the joke.

_ Trains of thought. I'm on an airplane now; I'm - I am - afraid to fly.

_ Can you imagine?

_ Can water get wet?

_ You're angry today - I can tell. Have a coffee; it might kill you. The next one could be your last. Did you know that complete strangers - invisible beings on the run, beings who have merged into one big, blue, bountiful sky - have told me that I laugh too loud at things that aren't funny. I wonder about the veracity of such an allegation. I consult the owner's manual - they are wrong. Johnny's wearing salmon shorts - farm raised; his dog has diarrhea. He deftly scoops, with the bag inside out on his hand. The bag breaks; his hand is covered in watery feces. He sees me watching so I give him the finger. I was hoping he saw the humor in it, but he didn't. He grabs his crotch in an attempt to express his displeasure with me. I bet he wishes that he used his other hand. I'm not sure that this is of interest to you; and, quite frankly, I don't care. I don't know what it means to care. Who cares? Don't answer that question. Take a look around and see for yourself what passes for everyday life.

_ You resemble Irving 'Swifty' Lazar. All this time it has been driving me crazy, and now I know: You are the ghost of Irving 'Swifty' Lazar. But that is where the resemblance stops, for Swifty couldn't stand his nickname; you don't have one.

_ One born one dies; unborn, no death. Do you ever remember not having been? The year 2013; who's keeping track of such things? To disprove evolution is to prove it; the clock strikes twelve twice a day; neither sticks, or have you noticed? Real time...

_ You're in...

_ Don't start with the EGBDF. You listen to me and you listen good.

_ Who's angry now?

_ Vanilla. A nice fella. A good man; a fambly man. Namby pamby fambly man. We say the voices of the dead have been quieted, but what do we really know? I don't hear them screaming. That much I can tell you. But does that mean anything? I can hear dogs whistling. I pick up the tune. They laugh when I've finished, when I wipe the spittle from my face. To laugh myself sick. Have a coffee; it's good for you.

_ Purple... I like my coffee purple. Johnny! Johnny! Over here!

_ I  thought Johhny was in the basement, mixing up the...

_ How dare you! There are no substitutions. Such hubris! I should sentence you to a life of leisure with nothing to which you might deign to compare it to. Did you see the news? Did you hear the tree? Do you feel the dust collect upon the otherwise shining face of the mirror? Have you ever seen anything that wasn't a reflection of something else, much less your fucking face? The whole solar system has dropped two feet deeper into the uncharted regions known as space - outer; my stomach flipped - now I'm better. What would you like me to say?

_ Heartbroken in Hoboken; that you don't have one; that you're a bitter man. I would like you to say something that portends of a coming Sun.

_ You want me to start over?

_ No. I want you to continue as you are. Chai?

_ Just so long as it's not good for me.

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... The onion of history has shown that Sam did not make the pants, much less too long, much less the shorts - salmon.

... The esteemed opinion of water gone.

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A Pillow Resting Its Weary Head

_ The past, a hellion; reeking havoc anew, casting doubt upon a once bright future. Where did we go wrong? 'Tis a child of the universe, born of parents long thought dead. From whence this whelp? How deep and dark the cave of memory... 'Two birds, fast-bound companions, clasp close the self-same tree; one bird eats the sweet fruit, the other watches.' Candlelight, the Sun... Who sees the shadows dance? Suffer the indulgence of imagination; suffer. Imagine within and without, loss and gain, birth and death, up and down. Imagine the reins of a horse, with a head in every direction, resting softly in your hands. God is everywhere. God is everywhere. Within and without - it is we who are ignorant. We may not see what we ignore but it holds fast. We are never out of the embrace.

_ '... Another unborn male leaves her with whom he has had his delight...'

_ We've drifted.

_ Or perhaps everything else has moved; broken free of its moorings.

_ No... Yes... yes, it is as you say. And now it's gone. Another another has replaced it. So strange... we have all been here before. I watched as my father lay dying. I wonder if he did the same, with either himself or his father. I will soon follow, putting to rest the rumor of death. Forever alive in the breath- defying silence.

_ Would you know silence?

_ I would, and I have. I have known silence in a manner that makes all else strange. But that only lasts for a minute - the strangeness only lasts for a  minute, for it soon is consumed in the all-pervading silent echo. A masquerade is what we live...' We cling to a shrub, yet a grove lay before us.'

_ You, too, call on the Upanishads.

_ The Upanishads exist forever as a certificate of live birth. I have known silence in a way that makes you strange; that makes you dissolve. It's as though you were never, ever here; and I can't forget you. Precise imaginations, created into a functioning image, disappearing by and by, and turning into forget me not's.

_ Is that so?

_ Yes. You have never fully been here. The better half of you is everywhere else. Our comings and goings are evocative of another lie - the lie of life and death. I am going to taste of death in the same manner I have tasted of life; in the same manner in which the bow of a ghost ship tastes of the sea as it forever plies forth; never resting, never moving. And I will bring back gifts from unseen lands and place them in unseen hands; and all will be an offering to a most jealous god. Cast aside fear and be absorbed. I don't know what else to say to you; you're undependable.

_ I will remain undependable as long as you remain afraid.

_ Yes. I understand. Things are happening so rapidly. Only the authentic matters. The straight and narrow is neither straight nor narrow. The infinitesimal and the infinite: One the quotient of division, one the product of multiplication; one through subtraction, one via addition: All is the same. Stand your own personal catastrophe against dreams unrealized. What's the diff?

_ The diff is the same.

_ Beautiful. Chai?

_ Thank you.

_ You, my friend, are welcome.

                                                                       ********

... Faith is born of intuition, of hearing silence; it is not belief.

... To sit in meditation and watch as you emerge from the jaws of death over and over and over. It's not what you think, it's what you don't.

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A Delicate Quiver (continued)

_ I'm uploading my entire existence into this new thing. It has no name, nor does it have boundaries; it is like thought just prior to a host thinker. A delicate quiver traversing the innermost sanctum of the heart; a vibration. I'll leave it at that.

_ Not if I have anything to say about it. I know astronauts who have been to the moon; and they have a firmer grip on things than you do.

_ That's because they're used to having things in their hands  - it's lonely out in space. I would like to see them build a fishing dock out in space so these astronauts of whom you speak are able to sit quietly and do a little fishing - it's very relaxing. Imagine just sitting on a rustic fishing dock in the middle of outer space. You wouldn't even care if you didn't get a nibble. Maybe catch a space porgie.

_ I used to catch porgies and lay them in the road in order to watch their eyeballs pop out when cars ran over them.

_ Were any of your astronaut friends with you when you were thusly engaged?

_ No. Howsaboy?

_ Outrageously wonderful. I was awakened by a large nut, or perhaps it was a bolt, dropping on the floor of the ceiling above me. A delicate quiver; and then 'Bang!'... Suddenly, and without warning, I was awake. It was as though I sensed it all prior to its happeninng.

_ You did. You did?  The fourth Earl of Sandwich had serving bowls filled with porgie eyeballs strategically placed around the palace. They were a delicacy in his mind. Howsaboy?

_ Thank you very much. You take quite a chance asking a busy man that question. I admire your resolve; it's like a smile on the face of one unafraid to die. As a young boy I had an intense vision, the result of seeing George Harrison's picture for the first time - it was in Jan. of 1964. Eventually it led me to a teacher - her name was/is Gurani Anjali. She prompted us continually to realize the sacredness of life, the dignity of man and the existence of all of existence within our own existence. I now share this with you. I hope it answers your query.

_ It would... it could... but you've missed one thing.

_ What?

_ I call on the ghost of Sartre to elucidate that like an egg sans salt, or a kiss without a moustache, etc., etc., etc., you - we -  are missing something... You haven't asked me 'Howsaboy?'.

_ I, most likely, will not be asking you 'Howsaboy?' today or any other day from this day forward.

_ Fine.

_ I know how you are; I know how I am. I find it all very boring... 'and a librarian shall lead them...' Silence, you fool! Thirty days hath September; eight books comprise the month of June. I find myself wishing that I was fishing on a dock in the middle of outer space. Can we get there without all the distractions? Is there an express?

_ Fine as frog hair. Thank you for asking. Yes; and no. I, too, wish that things didn't make sense. I'll bring the worms. Chai?

_ An empty boat afloat somewhere in the uncharted regions of what we commonly refer to as outer space. Another boat bumps into it - it, too, is empty. No one gets angry.

_ That's not surprising. Who is unafraid of dying?

_ I feel that George Harrison was. He was ready to move on. He endured a very challenging circumstance and walked the talk. Then, with the timing born of right action, cancer appeared. Why is it that I feel cancer is a godsend?

_ You tell me.

_ To look in all directions; to feel the suffering implicit in endeavor. To look in all directions and recognize the quivering in your heart that allows for you to know that you are being called forth. To rejoice in the transcendent; to leave the small behind. True love. The essential nowhere, and no one, of what we refer to when we speak of love. It is a point through which we align ourselves with that which is beyond all measure. Sometimes it's quiet enough in your local library to indulge in this exercising of love's power; sometimes it's contained within the sound of a nut, or perhaps a bolt, falling on the floor of the ceiling above you. What's strange is that in sensing it sometimes and not others we tend to bemoan our fate rather than be inspired to shed our limitations. We are strange creatures.

_ No argument here. Chai?

_ Amidst the nowhere of the infinitude of space; amidst the clamor of an infinite array of empty boats banging willy-nilly off of each other in the vast uncharted ocean of space, which contains all sound and yet is forever silent; amidst the hullaballoo of me and you slurping chai whilst playing tennis with the alphabet; amidst people making sense of nonsense; amidst the illusion of choice, yes... yes, I'll have chai.

_ I once went fishing and forgot the poles. I seem to recall floating.

                                                                         *****

... Das boot! Halyards ringing against the mast. The sound puts some to sleep, others awaken; some seemingly never hear.

... To mistake the corrupt for the pure, the temporal for eternal, the painful for pleasurable and the idol for the true: this is ignorance. But one can ignore for only so long.

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Integrate Dis

_ No strolling about today, eh, grey seal? No strollin’ about, laddie, mi laddie... although there could be break in the clouds; after all, things have been known to change... to die, for lack of a better word. All things must pass... indeed... And sure they will - you, me... he, she, his, hers, theirs, ours, mine... this and that - all bound for the boundless ocean of nevermore. ’Holding this entire universe in but a fragment of my being, I remain unchanged and transcendent.’ Or some such words to that effect close out the tenth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita... Yes, sir, and yes, ma’am. And with the whole world in his hands he’s not much different than me and you, except for knowing; except for realization. What? The cat got your tongue?
Silent today?... So you’re silent today... alright, okay... I guess that means anything goes... to float within the accommodating confines of limitless silence; to float within the boundless bubble of nevermore. Wrap your heart and mind around and within it, my very good friend, and live in heroic fashion, letting nothing stop you from serving your Lord... Have you heard? Or does being silent preclude hearing, too? You and a lot of other people like you are treading on some very thin ice, my friend. You're playing fast and loose with something that would benefit mightily from a decidedly lighter hand. Handle with care, chief - like the singer sings the song... Don't blame me; I call it as I see it. Anyway, the buzz around the water cooler is that they want to take our death away from us, just like they hijacked our birth. They want to further complicate what, at its inception, is a rather simple affair - living... the art of living, if one would be so kind. No more is it a noble calling to just be; everybody’s a story. Why? Why were we supplied with a story? Shhhh... I know, you can’t speak - I, too, have walked that road. Long legs and broad, strong feet are a help when riding the chariot silently into the flaming fire of evermore - it, too, is a bubble... O yeah... It could be the same... could be the same. But no one is speaking. It could all be the same. No, don’t start with the eyes. If you’re silent, you’re silent... if you're silent, you're silent - a courageous act. A courageous act in that it provides direct access to an inevitability. And all inevitabilities reduce down to only one - there is only one inevitability... AND IT IS NOT DEATH! No, it is not death, for the one inevitability partakes of no story, yet it holds them all within a single fragment of its being and remains unchanged and transcendent. How do you say ‘it’ in the vernacular of one who is silent? Make it a double... a double ‘it’... I don’t think anyone would take umbrage if I were to suddenly jump up from my place at the table and start to berate you loudly. I have paid every dollar ever printed in order to acquire this New York accent - I’ve had it surgically implanted into my bag of tricks -  and, trust me when I tell you, kingfisher, it lends itself well to berating. NuhYawwk!... And what will the people think? And what will all the nice people think? I’ll tell you what they’ll think: They’ll think whatever it is I think they’ll think; and I shall act accordingly. Some may require hugging, some a kiss and others a knuckle sandwich. It’ll be good fun - a laugh. Can you hee-hee-hee when silent? Hee-hee-hee without the hee-hee-hee? Pity if you can’t, however; a cause of grief, to not laugh... In my case it would be a very brief grief, mind you, for I’m on to other things. Take heart though, old bean, for none of this has anything to do with you. What say we belly-up to the bar and see if we can coax the barista into making us a couple of chai? What say we change the subject to change without notice, huh? Don’t think of quilts, instead silently contemplate the thread that holds them together. Or just sit there and enjoy the whole world; it rests silently in your hands. You do have hands, don't you? Don't answer that question... do not answer the question... I want to think that right now you are sitting in silence holding in your cupped hands he who holds the whole world in his hands; and I would further like to think that you are doing so gently.
My, oh my, but isn't that the lady whom I witnessed speaking to her dog as if it were a person? Isn't she the one whom I mentioned as having a conversation with a canine of unknown origin? She spoke at length; it was silent - I couldn't see its undercarriage, so 'it' will have to do. Do you know 'it'?... HOW DARE YOU INSULT ME!... JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?... Look at that... not a single person has jumped up in your defense. I could probably kill you and stroll on out of here. I could berate you in a righteously indignant fit of pique and it would be business as usual in this little tea garden. Gossamer threads of nothing weave the fabric a to b to c to d; and you feel there is something to it? Maybe you don't... maybe it was someone else, in another life. Yes, yes, I woke up dreaming... I met a... Thank you, thank you, you're so kind. True art, my very good friend, speaks the same language as you - SILENCE! You're silent today. You could be a granite countertop; you could be a rainbow five seconds before anyone sees it - you are that special. My fifth wife, when I would ask her how she spent her day, always replied " I don't know." God how I loved her! I was away when she succumbed to the charms of the forty-first wink. I had been vacationing in the Punjab for eight months and wasn't due home for another eighteen. Word reached me during sundowners; I fell silent.... Are all silences the same? AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU?! YOU SIT HERE LIKE A BUMP ON A LOG AND REFUSE TO PICK UP THE TAB?! I'VE NEVER BEEN SO INSULTED IN MY LIFE!... I'm telling you, I think I could dismember you and no one would bat an eye... I wonder what would happen if I were silent?... Greased lightning through somber skies.... CHAI, PLEASE! AND GIVE THIS BUM THE CHECK. If you don't have money on you don't worry. I have a fin stuck between the toes of my loafers. Sure... we're all thieves. I enjoyed an imaginary indiscretion with a woman who doesn't even know my name; in fact, I'm not sure she even exists...

                                                                      ******

Marwa Blues

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Norman's Home

_ Err, ah...squelch... This is the, err, ah, ghost of Ted Kennedy, the former, err, ah, lion of the Senate, coming to you live from the, err, ah, grave... squelch.

_ This is...squelch... the guy polishing avocados near the front entrance of your local grocery superstore... squelch... who upon hearing someone say "Hi" has realized that he is, in fact, alive, and that he should greet the customer...squelch... "Good morning"...squelch... It's all part of the job description.

_ Ted's one fathom down, in Norman's home, and has finally shed those extra pounds.

_ Norman's home?

_ Yeah... Norman the worm. Opening Day of baseball season brings back memories I've never had of Ted and all the, err, ah, Kennedy's.

_ Businessmen, buzzcuts, brown shoes upon which the break in the trousers rest, bacteria and boredom... Upon this mountain, upon this pile of sand, underneath which Norman carries on, I stand and ask you a simple question: Should the dispenser of our just rewards move on, vanishing from our minds and memory, would you continue in the life you live?

_ Dissatisfaction is the ignored, though never forgotten, child of desire; it is the animal behind us chasing us down, yet we think we are the one pursuing a tasty comestible.  Without a reward there would be no point to carrying on; although, I suppose, without a 'reward' there would be no sense of dissatisfaction. Let's pull out the green card and say I don't know.

_ Tea sans ice; practice and dispassion; the forever high tide of anger. A day so cloudy you can't see the clouds. How are we to practice if, through dispassion, the thought of reward is gone? Haven't we been taught that action results in consequence, be it reward or ridicule? We haven't been taught dispassion.  We are children in, and of, time; and dispassion negates time... Hmm...

_ Hmm? That's a fighting word where I come from.

_ I guess there is no more waiting; I guess that means that I'm done reading magazines. Is it possible to remove oneself from the stilted equation of this resulting in that?... One needn't have the world's largest crystal ball to ascertain that there is only bondage in reward; yet how are we to dismantle the anger that arises when responsible, considered action, instead of bringing reward, confronts certain death?.. Or is anger to be understood in the context of being the result of a prior action's resultant dissatisfaction?  Can we be done with it all?

_ All tough questions considering that we've been sold on reward from our first step. And now you say there is none?

_ Nothing lasting.

_ I'm okay with the temporary nature if things.

_ That's because you haven't funneled down into the Cathedral of The Cramped Opening, a place wherein everything and everyone gets left behind; and when the door shuts behind you, it shuts for good.

_ Bullshit artist. Play your word games on someone else. Buy me a chai or suffer the consequences of the back of my hand coming in contact with your skull.

_ Extra steam?

_ Yes... I think I deserve a little extra steam.

                                                                       ******

... Somewhere the piano note at the close of "A Day in the Life" resounds still; frozen, as it were.

... Anger... I've learned well; I've perfectly assimilated an imperfect knowing.

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Worst Case Scenario

_ Life, a thought-borne virus. Coaxing... one thought stroking another; enticing. Perhaps now you understand the futility of all endeavor, and in what manner this realization allows for us to be vital and fully alive.

_ What you say makes no sense; and... and, mind you, I understand fully, for I walk the same trackless path; forever here, condemned, as it were, to a so strange freedom.

_ I gather that we all do, that we all are, that we all walk toward our own particular uncertainty; some know it, and some don't.

_ Maybe more to the point is that, regardless of what we presume others know, or don't know, the act of knowing replaces not knowing in an exercise called bravery, a bravery contingent upon being strong enough to stand the shock of realizing the auto-erotic nature of thought and the lifeless life it references.

_ The memory of water is what inspires elephants.

_ A worst case scenario? Drops forming more drops; a pass of ducks; a silent scream.

_ A salient point.

_ Is there any other?

_ No, not really.

_ What about the children? What about those left behind?

_ We've been left behind; we're children destined to die. Upon whose shoulders do we perch to gain our exalted view?

_ Drops forming more drops; the pristine memory of untroubled waters. Don't expect to be lauded should you choose to dive.

_ No. It's not until the next morning that the wisdom of leaving the party early is evident to those new to the envelope of memory's strange chamber.

_ Remind me to never return here.

_ Said the drop to the drop.

_ Hmm... I feel somewhat out of  place not having a bag full of dog shit when I'm out on the stroll.

_ I could loan you an elephant - I have a friend who's a lion tamer. Do you have a large, heavy canvas duffle bag.

_ Duffle - French for big steaming....

_ Chai?

_ Oui, mister.

                                                                          ********

... And the men had chai amidst an insanity posing.

... To leave early and never return.

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To Be Perfectly Frank

_ Suchness leading to thusness, yet the son has no idea that he has been fathered; thus, while the richness of the experience is imaginary, the experience itself is vacant.

_ In nomine patri et fili spiritu sancte.

_ We mourn the passing of time, we mourn our sanctification; we men have been set apart.

_ 'Tis an angel of the Lord that fled the bed of the mother; no one saw. She danced with the one who brung her. How is it that we don't see all of our strivings as being ephemeral vanity?

_ It was Yariyes who first announced that we are to cease from striving; it was Yariyes who first slapped the nappy.  " The universe is in reverse!" he cried. He was last seen shaking his fist as the North wind headed South, lending an imaginary richness to an imaginary life... What, pray tell, could be more rewarding?

_ A manner of living which offers no rewards, which harbors no illusions of self-importance?

_ Oingo meets boingo... Fire is the Devil's only friend...

_ Have we had this conversation before?

_ No.

_ Are we to just lay down and die?

_ Again with the effort, again with the striving.

_ I love a woman I can't have.

_ I have cancer - incurable, out of the blue.

_ My favorite color.

_ There's a new man on the balcony in Rome, speaking in a tongue strange to my ears. A strange divisiveness heralds the union...

_ Did you know that Francis was Giovanni until Pappy came home and hit the roof?...

_ O solo mio, jon bon giovann... I know... I know a lot of things...To be chief of the kitchen at Cold Robbie's Turniplike Diner and to just walk away... I know... I know what the last man wearing the red shoes felt, for the shoes were made out of a calf's liver.

_ ... No son of his was going to be Johnny. May you be Frank with me?...

_ Ah to be perfectly 'Frank' and yet still fail...

_The boy had no say in his name but he did have a say in what he did with the money he made selling rugs for his Pappy - he gave it all away to those less fortunate. Again the old man hit the roof. The boy was fired. The Catholic Church had an opening for a saint and they hired him; the future is forever the past.

_ A re-seeding, as it were.

_ You say that like Sean Connery.

_ Hoot mon.

_ We could sit here in silence.

_ We already are.

_ Make it two.

                                                                          ******

... And the guys had chai, the steam of which was in love with a woman it could not have.

... Why have we been fed all these lies? Could it be that we have an appetite for them?

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Don't Call Me Frank

_ Johhny Aplomb, an atom bomb set to go off in his shorts, ran a one minute mile; there was no paper.

_ Kinda fine; kinda very fine. I see you've your wristwatch on today.

_ I'm a gonna seize the carpe, as they say in old London town; grab it by its scrawny neck and tussle with it like we was a couple of bugs.

_ Another fine mess you've me in... Howsaboy?

_ This is special; this one is so very special. It is as though what you might think of as an angel has alighted upon my life; it is today.

_ One word...quick...

_ Fine.

_ Ditto, babe.

_ Does it matter that there's a new captain at the helm when the sea is endless and time divine?

_ Of course it does; frozen light moves at night and finds itself stuck in the morning.

_ You've spent time at sea?

_ Aye.

_ And?

_ No comprende. God is love. Chai?

_ Yes.

                                                                             *******

... Yes

... No

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The Swan

_ O my, but for the lengths we go to make sweet the sour there would be nothing to do; nothing at all. Let me tell you a story:
                 He was a stranger, or so I thought. He fixed me in a skyscape of light, glowing and unsteady - it was his lot to live in the dimensionless nowhere of one good eye. He showered, of his own admission, twice a day...

_ This story has already bored me to tears - I, of Two Good Eyes.

_ ... I was swimming in his eye... getting seasick, if you will. How long is a 'stranger' strange?...

_ Don't - do not - ask...

_ It was then I saw her; it was then I gave myself fully to rude musings... Black spandex... how original... A sly smile from across the aisle... Was I looking in a mirror? I screamed... "Fire!"

_ I would have an easier time of it learning Sanskrit for Stutterers than listening to you yarn on and on and on about some imagining based upon latent reserves of hallucinogenic residue coming to their rightful fruition, if one would be so kind...?

_ ?? I beg your pardon...

_ No offense taken. French Roast... something in the air... Yes, I think it's air.

_ Howsaboy?

_ Bearing the brunt of assaults from a couple of different fronts. Never been better, babe... Do you mind if I call you 'babe', babe?

_ She had on a party dress, and bear in mind this was early. I was dressed in my Saturday morning spats - black and white... There's no hole in this soul, Monsignor.

_ Future the next past. Have you tried the French Roast?

_ Gorgeous... What he just said... I was thinking that very particular pedigree of thought which leads one to more of the same... A poised snarl, if you will.

_ Of course I will.

_ Before I answer your question I must tell you that I wear a bicycle helmet when I brush my teeth... and it has saved me more than once.

_ Are you looking at me over the top  of your glasses? Are we taking this outside?

_ What can I say... fruit ripens in its own time. Hitting it with a hammer ain't gonna do shit...

_ Slipping in to the vernacular of the vulgar?

_ Whatev... Handsome is as handsome does... To assume ownership of a still-warm corpse... 'There's gold in them thar ills!'... Nobody owns nothing... I'm having a hard time choosing between Eggs Benedict or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

_ Two French Roast- one black, one purple. Eggs Benedict and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich - chef's choice on the jelly...

_ Through a grove of pumpkin trees we wove; an old Chicago Bear's helmet upon my dome. She was dressed accordingly...

_ ... and make it snappy. Yes... make it... snappy, I guess... Right? Does that sound about right?... Make it snappy...?

_ She was born one day new to her... a concert pianist, if you will...


                                                                     *********

... There's more to the story: The metronome went home; leaving... a still, bouncing ball.

... If'n I wish real hard it'll be someone's nice day.

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K-Nucklehead

_ Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-diff, like Knucklehead Smiff. What's the diff?

_ Shadows prove the Sun, night proves the day; if you hate you love.

_ If you love you hate.

_ Not necessarily. Love is transcendent while hate exhausts itself in love. To hate is to play Pong with no distance between the end lines - a still ball containing immense, intense energy, yet stymied in its ability to express, to resolve; hate can only resolve into love.

_ Pong?

_ One of the original video games along with Asteroids and What Color is Red?.

_ What color is red?

_ "... red is the color that my baby wore, and what's more it's true, yes it is, it's true."

_ Nice. Johnny and The Moondogs.

_ You know when you know; you know it's right.

_ Transcendent? She's a I'm a no-no. What do you mean?

_ 'Transcendent'... Funny word, no doubt there. The reason it works is because we've gone so far into the dark via our fractured linguistic selves that we need verbal sorcery to reintroduce ourselves to the light of immediacy; to reintroduce ourselves to our essential source - Abba.

_ Abba? Dancing Queen?

_ Nyet. 'Abba' means 'Source' - Father... I see you're wearing sunglasses... The Sun is so many million miles away - it's strange how we use units of ground measure for celestial bodies - and we both shrink from it and run towards it, depending on our particular needs, like we would a father.

_ Running towards, running away; going nowhere.

_ Fast.

_ Just chai... a chai fast.

_ Yes. The lingering fast; savoring chai while day turns to night and night, day... yes it is, it's true.

                                                                      ********

... The incomprehensible bliss of a moonchild finding his dog without looking.

... How do you change the subject when there is none?

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Unobserved

_ Avatars, by nature, are anonymous.

_ By necessity... they're anonymous by necessity, like Spinach Florentine. They have their choice of vehicle yet opt to walk, much like myself.

_ The back of my hand to ye... What do you know about avatars?

_ They're mostly Canadian. Very remote... they're very remote, like the guy standing right behind you when you step off on an around-the-world hike.

_ That's remote... that's an old Canadian trick, like a hockey puck's shadow.

_ Canadia, the last bastion of the eternally free. Wherever they go they never leave Canadia. They're anchored like steam to water. Real bastards...

_ Avatars or Canadians?

_ Nice try. Next...

_ Alright... you've made your point. Any grass?

_ Burnt orange, babe. Weakening... autumnal. Call it what you want but you're going to feel a little foolish when you're standing on the dock holding an anchor and everyone else has gone to a watery grave. Ooops, my bad, right?... Don't say anything. You don't have to say a word for I speak the language.

_ So this is it?

_ No, this is not it.

_ What is? What is it?

_ Some call it God; some the unfathomable, but they are all like impatient children waiting for the surprise. Empirically you know it as suffering... and when it shows up it doesn't leave. Everybody else leaves the party but suffering remains... Huh?... Where are all the balloons now, chief? Where are all the party dresses and one too many's?

_ The back of my hand to ye. What's it like outside?

_ The same. It's always the same. Things don't change in Canadia.

_ What about western Canadia?

_ Now you're talking. Chai?

_ In unobserved fashion.

                                                                      *********

... Contradict... who's listening?

_ Billy? Is that you?

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Keeping Pace

_ This is going to be good... the next sit-down with the Dr. When the friction produced by my silent disregard and his condescension results in us rusting, eyeball to eyeball?... Oh yeah... This will be good. This dynamic, my very good friend, this stalemate, if you will, is what makes the world go ‘round; this dynamic, my very good friend, is what the physics of passive aggressiveness is all about. It’s like to gathering the shavings from today’s ice in order to build a rink of your own... I know what you're thinking - Who cares, right?... Too much in the way of comparisons; too much left unsaid... It’s all too much; too, too much when just enough will do.

_ Is that so?... Keep pace and you’ll never feel it pass by... it’ll just end of its own volition.

_ You mean it will run out of fuel?

_ One... Or lose its appetite...

_ Losing one’s appetite... That’s different than a full belly... Quick... it’s quick.

_ It is.... but there’s other ways, you know... like maybe the host realizes the futility of graciousness and kicks the bum out; or just leaves, leaving behind not only the mess but also the ability to recognize anything as being other than perfect, and goes off somewhere, perhaps bowling, perhaps not. One goes this-a-way, and one that.

_ I’m messing with their bottom line. I’m sure you understand this.

_ Keep pace... you’ll never feel it pass by.

_ I don’t think that that is allowable under the guidelines of the AMA. An inability to recognize things as being other than what they are is not going to make the boys in Accounting happy.

_  Yowsa... Imagine trying to make someone else happy... Do you know that just yesterday I saw a guy jump up on a table at a crowded outdoor cafe, lower his drawers, drop a deuce dead center of the table and scamper off before anybody could say ‘Boo’?

_ I do now... Did anybody say ‘Boo’?

_ No... but they did say ‘Shit’.

_ Your man got the idea first.

_ Oh it was more than an idea that was left as a centerpiece.

_ Howsaboy?

_ I think perfect will have to do. Chai?

_ Of course... and a nice plate of chocolate gelato.

                                                                             ********

... No bop in the bop shoo op when Betty is barefoot.

... Neti neti - not this, never this; not that, never that

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Incense

_ Sandalwood and burning flesh... living downwind from the crematorium. Can you imagine?

_ Of course I can imagine. Isn't that what worrying is?

_ Worry is about four knots down the line of things imagined. Numero uno?... The greatest wonder?... Our imagined immortality in the face of an ubiquitous certainty -  death.

_ An ubiquitous certainty? I oughta knock you into the middle of next week.... A... a... a hour... a an apartment. An ubiquitous certainty.... Whyioughta... whyioughta... What's the use?... What's the sense in arguing with you, or with anyone else for that matter? Thought of death is a flame courting wanton conflagration: It will take you there! Thought stands committed to death - a covenant not to be denied. Your mind will turn inward.... An ubiquitous certainty grabbing you by the throat and tearing you away from the imagined. The fire of imagination and the fire of death, a dance only seen by those lucky enough to have had their eyeballs burnt from their skulls. This, my very good friend, is a job for the Doms... It - an ubiquitous certainty - is the only consort fit for things imagined; it exists for no one else. Death is yours, and yours alone.

_ The Doms labor under no such illusion, witnessing no such imagined dance, for it is they who tend the fires.

_  A worry-free life. I want to be among the Doms.

_ Sorry, my very good friend, but it's like royalty - you are born into it.

_ What if you work out vigorously and wait for it?

_ Wait for what?

_ Dom-ness to descend upon you. The delayed onset of muscle soreness... All the Doms do it.

_ What time does the Post Office close?

_ Sometime after it opens - it never closes when it's open.

_ At one point in time I wanted to be a postal clerk. Shortly thereafter, after I had told numerous people of my wish, I received guidance that my life was for another purpose.

_ And what is that purpose?

_ I don't know. I have not yet received that package in the mail. Good help remains hard to find.

_ What do you do?

_ What do you mean 'What do I do?'... I put in the time - Mark Twain style - and go about the affairs of living. What do I do?!!... Are you off your rocker?

_ "... I know why baby's crying, cause she's dying. Aren't we all?" Harry Chapin, babe... Taxi... Don't talk to me about the dead thing. She - and a floozy is she - readies herself for you.

_ O really?... Death readies herself for me? I hope she doesn't mind me being balls deep in her sister 'Life'.

_ Again with the again...' the wheels of the bus go round and round...' Get me a chai and a double chocolate wallop. I'm going to head outside and eat a songbird. Tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet. Remember... Room temperature awaits...

_ A double chocolate wallop? Chai?... Mail call!

                                                                    ************

... The delicious tension of things in opposition to each other.

... Friction is to the linear as stillness is to the experience.

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Happy Hour

_ One two four four.

_ I do...

_ Say what?

_ I care.

_ Silly boy.

_ One two six.

_ Forty-nine times ten, the clock struck twelve.

_ What about the other twelve?

_ Who cares?

_ I do... I care so much it appears I don't care at all.

_ You may not see it with your eyes, but if you listen you'll realize an immensity existing within as well as without; indeed if you are faithful you'll understand that the line between within and without is arbitrary and suspect.

_ And, should you stand on your head, it is ten after ten.

_ Happy hour!

_ Two for the price of one; prices doubled yesterday.

_ I die tomorrow.

_ Sweet. Howsaboy?

_ Where have the last sixteen minutes gone?

_ A vessel incapable of being full is overflowing; they didn't go anywhere.

_ Someone told me that I wasn't supposed to be here.

_ Apparently they were wrong.

_ Wrong and right; up and down; here and there... It's all the same, isn't it?

_ Yes... and no. Why are you rubbing your face?

_ I shaved this morning.

_ Bullshit artist.

_ You're right - I lied; the morning is bearded.... Are you looking at me over the top of your glasses? Are you chastising me silently? Are you intimating that I owe you some sort of explanation? Fine then. I'm guilty as charged - hang my father, for I am but a child.

_ And he?

_ A child just the same. Let's hang the guy who started this whole mess - we need a sacrifice... Let's conduct a survey and hang the first bastard who says they're a self-made man - no one will miss them.

_ Your language offends me.

_ English? English offends you?

_ I guess so... English creates me, English sustains me and it will be English that will be the death of me; thus English offends me.

_ Where have the last sixteen minutes gone?

_ Maybe they're hanging out with all the flowers...I bought a twelve pound sledgehammer yesterday and bashed all of my electronica into black dust. Among the carnage was a dig it all clock... it stopped years ago at eight twenty - happy hour.... I don't know where the last sixteen minutes went; I don't know that they ever existed - you're not supposed to be here. Check with the flowers.

_ I base my entire existence on its relation to changeable phenomena. I don't know that this is acceptable according to generally accepted accounting principles.

_ You're here.

_ Says you. I'm waiting for a certified letter from my accountant; I hope he hasn't died. Chai?

_ Sure, go ahead and change the subject to change without notice. I'll just whistle a happy tune.

_ Two chai, Garson... And bring a twelve pound sledge along with everything attached to a plug; I feel like breaking a sweat.

                                                                   ***********

... They were right - it's five o'clock somewhere.

... Changeable phenomena allows me to care and to not care. Can you take me there?

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In The Parlance

_ It's a big world out there.

_ Does simplicity ever go out of style?

_ It's almost unwieldy... How can something ever-present be either in style or out of style?

_ Focus... one's focus, my friend. Style is always in style. Apart from that things gets pretty complicated. Proffer, aspire, attain... or not,  and be either underwhelmed or disappointed... To fall short in the futile quest of an image proffered and to be then overwhelmed by your disappointment; to suffer, to identify with the lack of something nowhere to be found... To lack... A pity, indeed. How can we be, and yet lack? Simplicity defines style.

_ What makes a woman beautiful?

_ The fact that she, whomever she is, is not you.

_ So... You're facing the big kaputski... How now, brown cow?

_ Kaputski. I stay; you go. Simple enough?

_ If it ain't simple, it ain't simple enough.

_ Simple supports style. The rest - complications -  all come so fast and furious... complications having neither the substance nor the sustainability of the simple. They are destined to fade away - kaputski.

_ Is it fatal? Is your cancer going to be the end of you?

_ It doesn't matter. Nothing that is subject to change matters. I took that word 'cancer' into the place that doesn't let things out; this is the place of knowing; this is abiding. Cancer... blah, blah, fucking blah... Big deal, right?... This world hasn't been the greatest fit, conversationally; however, the living experience is always hand in glove, in the non-conversational parlance of eternal silence. I get to dance with fear - she's the one who done brung me; and it is she who goes to the pyre. And may the flames reach the Sun, for my true love awaits, clad in homespun - my place of knowing.

_ It's been like a stone in your shoe, right? This world... right?

_ You know of any other?

_ Well, there's one the ancients speak of wherein it's eat, drink and be merry.

_ Isn't there a few more syllables to that phrase? Something along the lines of "... for tomorrow we die"?

_ I'm not a fan of melodrama; I'm just an old song and dance man.

_ The back of my hand to ye... I am; and that train never leaves the station, nor is it ever late. I am; the echo is coincidental with the mouthing. I am; it's more than the greatest and less than the least. The synapse of one; omnipotent, omniscient and immutable.

_ So it is like a stone in your shoe... I suspected as much... We are the ancients... all of them... I can't argue with that... In the same manner that the Yankees will always be the Yankees, no matter who is wearing the uniform, so, too, we are the ancients hinted at in yesterdays tomorrow. I don't know of anyone who'll actually come out and say that pinstripes have fallen into disfavor with the dictates of style.

_ Sure...

_ A strange calm has fallen over us, Machu Pichu. Shall we repair to the hall of things unverifiable? Shall we sip the drink of the Mayans and dream of our days as beachcombers on the Sun? Shall we have chai?

_ It's like nothing ever happened.

                                                                  *************

... And nothing did ever happen, like two dogs barking at nothing. Is that happening?

... I am...

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So Sad

_ It's so sad when something is taken away.

_ Especially if no one knows what it is.

_ I'm not afraid of dying.

_ What about living... Are you afraid of living?

_ To be afraid... Is an only child afraid? Needn't there be another; an 'other'?

_ Are you an only child?

_ It wouldn't appear so, at least not until I step into my grave; at that point we are all an 'only child'.

_ " Cosimo, my little baby, come home to me".... Right?...." In about eighty years, ma; I've some stumbling and bumbling to do. Someone said they stopped the last war even though there was ammunition yet to be used."

_ Think 'Green': Finish one war before you start another... Is your name 'Cosimo'?

_ No. I was named after a form of alabaster.

_ I'm not afraid of living: I am living. A dot yearning to get to the center of the circle - a circle immeasurable... every where is where the center is... I dance with cancer, but I came of my own volition. To take the initiative in leaving iniquity behind, or maybe in front or on the side - either side. It doesn't matter because the night don't stick to this black cat; it - the night - runs away. Do you catch my drift? The naysayers say 'nay' when we say 'yea'. We back out of the room - there's so much room. Will I ever see you again? I'm not afraid of dying; I'm not afraid of living; I'm not afraid of cancer. How can I be? Cancer is fear... how can I be something I'm not? I can only be. How many forms are there of alabaster?

_Two; and one is unknown - that's me.

_ Something was taken away. I was so sad. I don't know what it was. I'm not sad anymore. I don't really have the time to be anything anymore. I don't have the time to be late. The great one's stand unshaken in the midst of the greatest sorrow - the living experience that we mistakingly call 'life'. They are unimpressed; it is we who bear the brand of that special memory. Everything we've heard of death - indeed death itself - falls from the lips of the living. To be afraid... I can only be.

_ Cha-cha, you rascal you. Chai?

_ I'm dry.

                                                                    **************

... A simple dish: A crust of bread, some greens and beans; a glass of wine.

... Candlelight tonight; starwine.

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DotDotDot

_ Sure...

_ Excuse me?

_ I was told by a teacher of mine - in another culture I would say 'guru' - that the experience of intense pain takes place in a realm of silence. I can attest that this is true.

_ Screams aren't what I would call silent.

_ Ask the person screaming... Besides, most people are strangers to silence.

_ You are batting 1.000 when it comes to throwing down an unverifiable gauntlet. I suppose you celebrate Groundhog Day. Am I correct in this assumption?

_ Sure...

_ Do you even know when Groundhog's Day is?

_ January 33rd... And what's interesting about Groundhog's Day is that it is the perfect example of a two-way street that only goes one way.

_ Tell me something that I don't know...

_ An early Spring or six more weeks of Winter... On Dec. 64th, depending on what the groundhog does, or doesn't, do, we will have one of two situations: an early Spring, or six more weeks of Winter, correct?

_ If we are talking about Feb. 2nd, yes.

_ Six weeks - 42 days -  from February 2nd is March 16th. Six more weeks of Winter culminating on March 16, which is an early Spring; a two-way street going one way...

_ And aren't we smug... What's next?... Extra-ordinary food? Would my eating a piece of raw pizza dough in an MRI machine constitute extraordinary food in a unique setting?

_ Sure... Howsaboy?

_ Embedded in silence.

_ A stranger no more... Chai?

_ ___________...

                                                                         ************

... Money... Who'd have thought it would have caught on like it has?

... Parallax... Perhaps we won't meet again...

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Anonymous

_ Mulligan was right.

_ Who's Mulligan?

_ The guy that was right when he said don't bother looking for anything... that it'll all show up in its own good time. He was right.

_ That's Mulligan for you.... Anyway it's been a pretty interesting day at the races, if you would be so kind.

_ Don't get me going on kindness - I find it very irritating.

_ Irritation... pearl-making 101... I have some business cards to hand out.

_ Whoa... a businessman? You're a businessman?

_ The Stevens Realty Group.

_ That's you? You're Stevens?

_ No, I just liked the sound of it; it buys me time when I'm looking to beat feet - I give someone a card and walk away. All the contact info is fictional.

_ Nice.... I understand that Mulligan has come down with a very rare case of musical sindrome de tourette. He will sing very bawdy, very naughty songs in English, with a French accent, for no apparent reason.

_ Why not, right?... Mulligan... Is he the guy who wears one Beatle boot and one roller skate?

_ No, that's his brother Mulligan; however, your man Mulligan got a standing ovation the other day on the line at the bank for his heartfelt version of Barnacle Bill the Sailor.

_ Barnacle Bill the Sailor in a French accent?... There aren't any chairs at the bank... Any ovation at the bank is going to be a standing ovation.

_ Mindsplat!... Ohhh... it's all over my cardigan. Yech!

_  When you wake up in the morning do you forgive yourself?

_ Indeed-y-do... for I know not what I am about to do. Yes, I do... and everyone else, and I'll tell you why: I'm a quality guy... I have no use for quantity. I forgive you....

_ Golden ghee.

_ I used to know of a construction firm whose motto was, "We do it right because we do it twice."

_ Maybe if this Steven's Realty Group thing takes off I can look them up.

_ How would you know if it took off?

_ I wouldn't. You see I, too, am a quality guy; I need nothing - it's impossible to lose.

_ A no-win situation.

_ Be thankful for small blessings. Chai?

_ I'll take the second cup first.

                                                                    **********

... If I could only have one sense I would ask that it be hearing. Yes.

... To quietly go about your business; to turn like a wheel. To sense that, above all, one need do nothing to enjoy.

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Mind Sweat

_ Why would I wake up in the middle of the night to the thought that this is all a lie?

_ Because you've adequately rested - you're not tired anymore... A lie? What makes a lie?

_  Truth... Truth, with the patience of death, outs a lie; and lies prove the truth by the manner in which they are put forth. Lies participate and define corruptibility, change, transience and exclusivity. We hold that which is corruptible, subject to change, transient and exclusive as being the exact opposite - incorruptible, stable, permanent and universal. Measuring one lie against another in an effort to pronounce the truth. My life is a lie. It exists nowhere but in the waterfall of things thunk. It is an ever-changing ordering of random experience attributed to a static self, which can only exist in the repetitive world of thought. My life is a lie.

_ Have you tried drinking heavily?

_ The millstone of history, with its promise of a watery grave, is an under-appreciated accessory in the world of high fashion, causing both sides of the mirror to lie. I suffer from separation anxiety; I am fragmented; I am a lie.

_ Warm milk laced with about nine ounces of hootch... That'll usher you into the realm of the unverifiable - dreamless sleep.

_ Evidence to the contrary - I'm awake - proves the veracity of the opposite - dreamless sleep. I had a cousin who died in his sleep... I wonder if he knows he's dead; and if his sleep was dreamless when he succumbed to the enchantment of the forty-first wink is he aware of ever having lived?

_ Do what the people up North do.

_ What's that?

_ They sleep when they're tired. They don't concern themselves with lies or truth, just living - it's too cold to do anything but stay warm.

_ One lie supporting another, mimicking the disinterested, unseen parent. We are never separate from the truth. Lies change; truth does not. It was more than just waking up and perusing thoughts. It was waking up to the undeniable sense that this is all a lie; and then to careen through things now gone in an effort to disprove it: To deny the undeniable; to live ignorantly; to sleep...

_ Howsaboy?

_ They want to keep me alive for a certain period of time in order to bolster the false assumption that life begins and ends. The longer one delays the inevitable, the better. Cold comfort is better than none; and then that goes.

_ Cold comfort is better than none?

_ Yes. A hot shower is a cold comfort - you eventually have to step out into the cold, clammy embrace of 'what now?' We've been lied to our whole lives and we thus recognize lies as being the truth. Living in such a manner is dependent on the support garnered from the continual lies of others. We need look no further than our innate ability to recognize suffering in order to realize our plight - we, ourselves, are suffering... and such realization, if we don't deny it, intuits the way out of this mess. The life of the Buddha; the life of Yahshua... I doubt we could stand in front of these men and say, 'You're wrong'. I dare say we would collapse in a heap in front of them. As it is we crumble in front of ourselves. Waking up in the middle of the night to the realization that this is all a lie makes it tough to go back to sleep.

_ Sweetness and light... it exudes from you like carcinogens from a new shower curtain. You outgas a carefree vapor. You're one of those people whom nothing bothers. I wish I could be more like you.

_ Go ahead. I'll wait... Let's have some fun, but let's not ignore the effort that goes into it. Lies require effort, an effort so deeply entrenched in us as to appear effortless. Truth is effortless, but based on our assertion otherwise it appears an impossibility. I hope to wake up one day screaming at the top of my lungs and in a cold sweat. That will be my miracle morning. Until then I'll dream the sleep of the dreamless; to be forever embraced.

_ Well... I'm not sure how to say this so I'll just say it: Chai?

_ I thought you'd never ask.

                                                                          *********

... How do you know you're in love the first time?

... Is it possible to out-think thought? One thorn removing another; both get discarded - the memory is whole.

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Harijans

_ Crows... Do they put on a winter coat? A very gregarious lot they are.

_ The choppy, plank-like steps of one encountering a cold morning; the recumbent wind; things frozen in place. To be warm, safe and dry.

_ To be loved...

_ To love... to choose to love because there is no other living choice. The illusion of laboring under harsh circumstances in an effort to be rid of them. It's prismatic - our relationship with circumstance - coloring our eye in a manner that is either welcome or an intrusion based on how we slice the indivisible. Colors everywhere; yesterday my favorite was blue.

_ To choose... Who chooses? Yesterday's choice choosing today? Do you seek something that goes with blue?

_ I am blue seeking; my sweat stains the multi-colored cloak. Until I stand naked I am incapable of love.

_ What is love?

_ The ancients... O how I color that band of renegades. Did you know that the ancients didn't consider themselves as being ancient, six slipknots down the long line tethering now to then?

_ Cyclical as opposed to linear... This I understand; it saves me money on birthday presents.

_ The ancients from India: " The oneness of breath and mind, and likewise of the senses; and the relinquishment of all conditions of existence. This is known as Yoga." These words are contained within the Maitri Upanishad. This, my very good friend, is the prerequisite to love; this, my very good friend, asserts the primacy of love... the inspiration powering the first inhalation. To return... is it possible?

_ The impossibility of the impossible...

_ Things frozen in place... for a time. The certainty of this lies in the cyclical and is manifest in the linear. It is this living chaos, this inchoate, a-rhythmic swoon, which ineluctably paves the way for the return to the rhythm; to that which breathes.

_ What about the crows?

_ Head to toe - crow in, crow out. Capiche? It's like walking down the corridor in a motel - we know what to do. And we're not getting anywhere doing it, save for the other end of the hall. The illusion of distance...

_ If distance is an illusion so is time.

_ All is illusive, elusive and beckoning; love is the multi-colored raiment of those who no longer choose. To be vital today with no thought for tomorrow.

_ You're not a good cancer patient.

_ I'm the best; the only... Chai?

_ As if I have a choice.

                                                                        ***********

... I love George Harrison; his struggle I understand; and I applaud his grace.

... Harry Belafonte is a very interesting guy; a man who heard and acted.

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_

. . . B . . .

_ Distance traveled; distance yet to go... Don't - do not - deny the undeniable.

_ That's a bubble without walls.

_ I'm flying first-class, where all you see is suffering; distance traveled, distance yet to go. I'm going to align my nervous system to the vibrational wavelength of a higher order.

_ Renounce the world before it renounces you... it looks better on the resume. Let it all go... it's very simple... You let it all go.

_ Simple, simpler, simplest... which witch is which. Ding... the sound of the bell ringing... Ding... haven't I heard you somewhere before?... Baaarrrrrrriiiinng! And to think you would live forever... Hah!

_ Sure... Why not?... Fly away home, crustacean. Fly away home.

_ The choices are limited to the one you choose; unpacking should be easy.

_ A larrupin' wallop of all that is good rots upon my palate; it's missing something... a rogue dollop in search of something not there.

_ The bad? Is it missing the bad? They are soul-mates, you know.

_ I know a lot of things; and a lot of good it's done me, sitting here with you.

_ There's plenty of doors and windows. Pick one.

_ The extension of a limitless love - a bit of child's play. We obviously know that only a limitless, unconditional love could support such depravity as exemplified through the human endeavor, an endeavor in which love is the first coloring. It, along with the background, appears like it's always been here; like it's always been here waiting in what can only be called distracted fashion... Or perhaps we are distracted... maybe we are the guest and not the host. Whattyasayyyy!?...  Howsaboy?

_ Sad. Mortimer died... a snerdly death by the sea. He had so much to offer; he just simply ran out of air... Shortness of breath it's called, Bob...

_ Corks bob, kid.... Corks, not me. Howsaboy?

_ Never been better. Only ever been. Et tu?... And you?... Voulez-vouz?... Catch my drift?

_ The Latins got all the good words, so howsabout 'fine'?... Will 'fine' do?

_ How dare you italicize your words! You know, or at least should know, of my sensitivity in this regard.

_ Sorry.... Why don't you buy? It'll get us back on the right foot. I'll have a double chai, extra steam and cream, no designs nor knick-knack - no, no.... Basic, as in 'the usual'... And that was yesterday.

_ Sure... 'the usual'... and, of course, yesterday it is. Pity that Mortimer died. He just ran out of air.

_ Running out of air... I've heard it is one of the most beautiful of deaths.

                                                                    **************

... Paying no mind to the fact that I'm afraid of heights, can you take me there?

... Bob... and then tuck gently beneath the waves.

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Yeah man

_ I wonder what it's like to not mow your lawn.

_ You don't mow my lawn... How can you not know what it's like?

_ I've bathed in motels and slept in tubs. I swim my way to even wetter waters... Swim, swam, swum... Yes... there are wetter waters than ours. To the seeker the sought. D'ye know what ye seek?

_ The living realization of that which is hinted at by the word 'God'. To relinquish all conditions of existence.

_ I don't know that there's a support group for that... You may end up waltzing with your shadow, Chief... the tengo solo... Do you mind if I call you 'babe', Chief?

_ The keeper and the caught... What you don't understand is that I'm playing ball against a new wall, a wall you've never encountered. You're expecting the ball to bounce this way and it's already half that-a-way, babe... You're neck is cricked in the wrong direction... It's unnecessarily cricked...You don't mind if'n I call you 'chief', babe, do you?

_ A sharp blade on a lawn mower makes a big difference.

_ It is 'the difference', aside from the comforting roar of the motor and the integrity of the pulleys, belts and driveshaft. A sharp blade seemingly divides water... And the water?

_ To relinquish all conditions of existence... Isn't that a bit like shades on the moon? I thought so... and you know exactly what I'm talking about, you sly dog you.

_ I had you going, right?

_ Outside and high, low and inside... I'm waiting on that meatball.

_ I have medical offices calling me all the time. They want me to come over and play.

_ Expletive deleted... Chai?

_ Absolutely, old bean.

                                                               *****************

... 'The days'... perhaps they're still to come. Tee-hee.

... I thought it was a bad sign when the grand prize in a raffle was home heating oil. What's next? Potable water?

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...

Chained

_ Left on their own, and to their own devices, birds do not die. It is only when they are acted upon by external forces that they succumb to the endeavor of living - dying.

_ The conditions we impose upon existence have the same atomic weight that the limitations imposed upon us at birth do.

_ Savvy marketers create the image, put forth the enticement in easily digestible form and stock the shelves. Wasn't it you that I bumped into at the Store of Stores?

_ Tip-toe softly leaving. Take your place amongst the rabble; and hope that a scrap of bread, untouched by the immortals, comes your way.

_  Oh is that it? Am I to be humbled?

_ Who am I to say what you are to be? The precise incision; the keen blade of living... effortlessly it carves expectation into unwieldy chunks of disappointment upon which we choke.

_ To the Vomitorium! A sluice of expectorate liberally sprinkled with bile and dimension; it's what makes mother's milk so special.

_ Howsaboy?

_ I sit here in a practiced manner; beyond that a blue sky.

_ A greater vehicle... a greater vehicle is always at our disposal. I guess we'll bang around in the wheel-wells of the rust-bucket we've grown accustomed to; the practiced manner. You didn't ask me.

_ Howsaboy?

_ A buffoon on an empty stage. I speak the language of the living into the ears of those afraid of dying: A greater vehicle is here, now; it purrs like a kitten.

_ Hmm...

_ To be so far removed from our own nature as to fear it; to not know; to fear. Run forward to the past, backward to the future; to a slipknot we are chained - it is the basis of all forms of bondage.

_ You know that guy who sits over in the corner and eats imaginary bugs? When people ask him, "Howsaboy?", he generally says, " Fine.", or, " You know, same shit, different day." He seems pretty content. I think that, left to his own devices, he might live forever. I'm going to go and study with him.

_ Shall I order you a chai?

_ As you like.

                                                                    *************

... Free... Would we know how to act?

... " The staggering daylight of no thought." Ulysses by James Joyce. Wrap your mind around that and a slipknot pops its cork. Celebration time is here.

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