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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Napping On The Beach

_ The rearview mirror, Bobby... you'll need it in the days to come so you might want to keep a squeegee handy.

_ Bobby's dead... too many un-toasted English muffins. They're bad for the liver, but don't tell that to the crew at the Ambassador where it's one of the specialities of the house; fork-split. Anyway, I traded my rearview mirror for a balloon full of laughing gas.

_ I think I might enjoy some laughing gas.

_ I'm withdrawing... I told you I've cancer, which seems a bit like taking a nap at the beach - at least as I remember napping on the beach. The distant sounds of wind and surf, gulls and peels of laughter, all growing more and more distant. Sounds evaporating into quiet. Very sweet, a nap at the beach.

_ Cancer is very sweet? Is that what you're saying?

_ Sweet... one of five tastes. A lovely lie-in on  the sand. And the world? What world?...

_ Umani... Dostoevsky... Did you know that mine good friend Fyodor has no credit rating?

_ Do you understand mind? It has nothing to do with anything it isn't. Mind is cancer in a can - it's everywhere... everywhere and nowhere; integrating and disintegrating. Is this disintegration? Is this disintegration? Do I fear a nap on the beach... a little snooze in the sand? There's not a lot of real substance to fear, is there? There's not a lot of substance to cancer...Yes? No? Are you afraid?

_ I was afraid you were going to ask that... No... no, I'm not afraid. You see, I, unlike mine good friend Fyodor, have a credit rating... and I intend to ride it down the wreckage... so no, I'm not afraid.

_ Ride it down the wreckage?... That's a heck of a 'Plan A' you've got there... I can't wait to see Plan B. I wonder what kind of eyebrows I might raise by riding cancer down the wreckage.

_ Plan B won't - will not - see the light of day. It's Plan A all the way.

_ What about the laughing gas?

_ I wouldn't say no.

_ A couple of laughs, right? Is that still legal? Can we sit around, you and me, and laugh for no apparent reason and be reasonably well assured that we won't be hustled off to the big house?

_ What do you think we would laugh at? What would strike you as funny about sitting here?

_ You never know what might be funny one minute to the next. You just don't know...

_ Overcome mind and you are in the clear. Is that what you're saying?

_ No. It's what you're saying. Chai?

_ Extra

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

... Alone and transcendent...

... It's what you're saying.

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Arranged Marriage

_ All the lives gone before forever exist within our realm; indeed it's the only place they do.

_ Why don't you just tell me that there's tile on the floor?

_ It's a wood floor; a finely-sanded wood floor, mind you, speckled with paint and finished in polyurethane. There are no tiles.

_ I suppose that is why you don't tell me there's tile on the floor. Howsaboy?

_ Fansomethingtastic. Whatever. However. Whatever... my goodness... I, my very good friend, am fine; and I don't mind telling you that I've broken a sweat in telling you.

_ Telling me, telling me... I love being told. What do you think of arranged marriages?

_ I don't think of them; I don't think of three quarters of the stuff you ask me about.

_ Arranged marriages... I'm not so sure that it isn't the way to go.

_ Aren't you divorced?

_ I'm not talking about me; I'm not swimming in Balboa's ocean. Face to face nobody knows nothing. It's just holes looking at other holes, seeing everything but the hole. We flounder; we don't have to.

_ Can you imagine the abject horror on the part of some poor, unsuspecting woman should she, unannounced, come face to face with you as her intended? Can you imagine?

_ I've turned people down.

_ Right.

_ Arranged marriage - me and everything else... me and every moment that has come my way - married. The totality of the experience is contingent upon the attentiveness of the enjoyer. We are part and parcel of a marriage ongoing. One bride with infinite husbands; one husband with infinite brides; one bride with one husband. Marriage - we. Oui?

_ Me? No. Nyet.

_ We... The hallway down which you are about to walk... What is behind you? Is there more behind you then there is in front of you? What is and what isn't... Do we recognize what is through what isn't? Can one walk down a hallway alone?

_ I...

_ Do we recognize the face that we have never seen before because of what isn't; because of all the faces we've seen before? Shouldn't all these strange faces terrify us? Are we all married and don't know it?

_ I'm...

_ The intimacy we continually ignore embraces us on all sides. Infinite intimacy ever in attendance, and yet we turn away. The arranged marriage of I and the colorings of time; a cascade, ever-changing, ever-moving, always here. The bride and the groom, together they merge, leaving others to wonder. One is the bride; one is the groom. Together - a new 'one'; indivisible, but it can be forgotten. Re-member... constant remembrance.... that's the key. The bride... how beautiful.... We're quite childish; quite stupid, slow and dull.

_ A lovely couple.

_ There are no couples, only one. A bride of infinite form dancing for her rapt husband. Staggeringly beautiful, now and forever. Dancing while others cautiously walk. To recognize the marriage you are in...

_ I was really just hoping to have a cup of chai; a couple of laughs... You know... I'm not trying to re-invent the wheel.

_ No, but you are going to die.

_ A thought... a fish in a strange aquarium; swimming.

_ Yes, fish swimming; an arranged marriage. Chai?

_ Coffee, black... in a white mug; an arranged marriage.

                                                                      *****^*****

... Symmetry is one word I would have spelled differently - I

... Elope.


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Shimmy

_ The essential mind-swallerer...

_ The shimmy in the water...

_ The love you live as life, or some such thing, some such thing, some such thing...

_ Is the cancer in your bones?

_ My dust... it's in my dust, like a brother from another star. Wherever it is, it whispers to me; strange whisperings...

_ Hmmm... interesting... dust... " it's in my dust"... Do you suppose that there is a felt difference between one's sense of being and... uh...ah... one's sense of history?

_ A man's name in his time should be his name for all time. Do you need an antacid?

_ Me? No. So... Carl, Louie, Jake and Oscar, the lads from Liverpool?

_ The first division: name-changing.... One's sense of being and one's sense of history...  How would you know of a difference between inseparable companions, other than just knowing it? Transcendence brings to light prior knowledge; and yet the quest goes on. Round and round we go. Experience seeking itself; an accretion from time immemorial. Being and history: doomed roommates. It's like two cannibals chewing on each other, all the while showering the chef with compliments.

_ Chilton, Filton, Milton and Stu, the lads from your town... Cannibals and cancer... quite a combination... at least the cannibals have a friend to play with.... I bet there's very few instances of cancer among cannibals... What do you suppose a historical being would eat if one were to have one over for dinner?

_ A cannibal?...

_ You don't know the answer, do you?

_ I'll find out tomorrow.

_ You're going to find out tomorrow about being and history?

_ I find out tomorrow if the cancer is in my bones.

_ It's in the dust. It's in the consuming experience of living. Fuck it, right?... Here we are flung up on strange shores, with a strange name... And then to desire another?... And to forever desire?... You are right, my friend: It is in the dust.

_ It's the shimmy in the water, it's the shimmy in the water, it's the wind upon the water, ripples dimpling. It's swimming for your life in a boundless ocean. It's not clinging. Proceed. There is nothing to fear; there is nothing to anything. Unencumbered by 'I'... Sorry.

_ Sorry don't live here no more; he blew down the road in the last dust storm. My neighbor's cat eats cancer; he gets after it like a dachshund after a weasel. Stop by some day. Maybe you want to meet him.

_ Maybe I don't. What's the diff, right? Being is the radically essential commonality enlivened and made spectrously evident via the vehicle of history; it's silence can be heard in the screams that permeate the ages, ages without end.

_ I don't think 'spectrously' is a word. Anyway, what good is knowing in this fashion if it just leads to more of the same, with no hope of ever overcoming the onslaught of circumstance?

_ It can be overcome when all thought of overcoming ceases. Once the depth of all suffering is glimpsed within our own suffering - and it will be glimpsed, if not downright stared at in abject horror -  then we will realize that which turns all else to cannon fodder. It will matter so much it won't matter at all. I think that is the answer to the question. Being... and history. Of course I could be completely wrong.

_ Wouldn't be the first time. Chai?

_ Indubitably. With a little extra dust.

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

... People with impediments; damaged goods: We're all damaged goods.

... Umm...ahh... there is no leader among men.

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Thought Balloons

_ Who are these impostors?

_ They're all part of a dream-based reality; part of a thing-based nothing. You, my very good friend, are not to worry, for there will be trucks on the highway the day they all die; trucks bound for nowhere rolling down the road. Love-starved seekers suffering the pangs of birth, one and all... Who are these impostors? Well, my very good friend, who wants to know?

_ I was walking here today, this high winter day, and I was visited by a turkey buzzard in need of a meal. Perhaps if one of the other patrons were to take a nasty fall we could carry him, or her, out so my little friend might enjoy a bite, no?

_ What? Do you think you're in Paris? They do that sort of stuff in France. They - the French - consider  the bigger picture; we are rather self-centered, myopic. Ferocious bastards aren't they - turkey buzzards?

_ Thought balloons black-tipped in red coloring the sky so nice with blue plying the sky with scraps of tourists in their talons and beaks. They know when the meat is nicely putrefied; they have no need for a metal probe thermometer. They are the exalted forerunners of a race dedicated to the art of dying; they are the living, breathing fire, bringing death to life right in front of our eyes. I rarely see them alone.

_ Always in the company of their shadow, at the very least. I once watched a turkey buzzard administer a bit of a poke to a deer carcass that had been fermenting in the heat for several days. A shower of innards triumphed in escaping, via this precise poke, the rot underway; our intrepid feathered friend rejoiced. Their song is a harsh symphony, sung for the sake of the artist alone.

_ There are many forms of expression called art; there is only one witness.

_ Aplomb... it all comes down to one word.

_ Either my name is not 'Aplomb', or my dictionary is about six hundred thousand words too long. Howsaboy?

_ You come face to face with a hungry turkey buzzard and that, my friend, will sober you up; and I mean quick. I'm good. The veil separating me from reality is very thin today, almost gossamer-like.

_ I would say it might be somewhat more substantial than gossamer based on my observations; somewhat more substantial than gossamer based on my obversations, confrontations and conversations I've had with people when you are not in attendance.

_ The drivel of riff-raff... I'm good. Far-seeing comes to mind.

_ Does insanity run in your family?

_ Insanity? You mean poor health? Is that what you mean? The only sanity I know of, indeed the only health I know of, is the complete cellular, molecular, pre- and post-atomic realization of that immutable power which permeates and transcends every circumstance and beyond. Beyond the beyond. The sky in which the sky through which the turkey buzzards soars, is contained; through which she brings life to death? Beyond that; beyond the beyond of mind. We are a healthy lot.

_ Hmmm... Chai?

_ Chai.

_ Why are you looking at me like that?

_ Aplomb... it's not even a thought balloon.

                                                                             **********

... A dream-based reality subject to change. Change changing change - no stain-stick here.

... Beware of darkness

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Hipsters In Our Midst

_ Swarms of hipsters have taken to the streets today, Bob, in an effort to garner support for their cause, skinny jeans be damned.

_ Bob? Bobby ain't here. Hipsters?... What's next? The sky is goo? What's a hipster?

_ So many questions... Relax a little; it's just life on Planet Earth. Hipsters, youthful meanderers who've taken to the streets, trying out their Converse All-Stars without training wheels for the first time. Some critics say that hipsters are, " ... little more than claymation dream jiz."
It could well be that this is the essential, potential nightmare for all things breathing.

_ Hipsters?

_ That's correct. The language that they speak is rooted deep within hip, clipped abbreviations; men are brooding; women unaware... incomplete.

_ Hipster women are incomplete?

_ No, not really. It's just the insistent 'vox cranial', an intentional product of the successful marketing and selling of the strange, yet familiar concept of 'lacking', for want of a better word. The hipsters speak... something's missing... hmmm...

_ And? And!? What is it they say?

_ What is heard is little more than the gussied up fodder of days gone by; murmurings of youth on the run... a very leisurely paced run, but a run nonetheless. They'll simmer down once they realize it's time to establish credit.

_ Fermentations...

_ What?

_ They - hipsters - are fermentations. You, me, them... all fermentations. And to be torn apart from our timeless essence by a soon-to-be genetically induced predisposition to a smaller and smaller span of attention? The hipsters better get a camera. With a small aperture.

_ Consider it done.

_ Oh well...

_ Hipsters... I kid you not... They'll learn... they'll learn...

_ We haven't.

_ We haven't? What are you talking about? I get a new credit card offer at least twice a week.

_ How about that old son of a gun the Sun? It's outside; yet the journey is within. Balderdash! It's inside and the journey is without. Now then... Howsaboy? Fhat the wuck! Whatever... Leave the streets to the hipsters. Perhaps they'll clean up the mess we've made, although latent tendencies towards laziness and sloth will eventually kick in and things will be even more of a mess. Eat, drink and be merry.

_ The reality is...

_ Whoa, Nellie! Hold that thought. This just in: Swarms of hipsters have taken to the streets today in an effort to be seen as existing outside the gurgle of the ferment. They do not mind saying that they have been influenced by their own kind; they shall forever exist outside the reach of the far-reaching claw of history. Now... What were you saying?

_ You're a bitter man.

_ I'm not everyone's cup of tea. But, then again. neither is chai.

_ It takes all types....

_ Are you still here? Fabulous. Chai?

_ If you are, I am. Still here. The strangely familiar concept of lacking would make it appear that I am waiting, but I'm not. Yes. Yes. I'll have chai.

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

... The strangely familiar sound of sound; space a taut eardrum. Is that waiting?

.... Harijans clamoring.

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Tenacious

_ I am part and parcel of a life in which dimension is limitless.

_ Stand straight, or be made to stand straight... I understand. My condolences. It's as though you've, through no fault of your own, had to learn to love bus exhaust.

_ I very rarely visit the same port more than once.

_ I, myself, have also been thrown out of a few places 'open to the public'. How it shivered my timbers; how it made me feel sullied... Don't come back! And then the door slams... Limitless...

_ That is not even close; but you go ahead and have your chuckle. I'm happy to be the occasion for your joy.

_ I guess I feel constrained by your 'limitless dimension'. You remind me of a person who puts nine nails in a board when three will do.

_ Three dimensions; four, with the inclusion of time. That's a pretty small crate for this dog. Have you not heard? Zero is the new 'One', Sumerians notwithstanding.

_ Hmmm...

_ Ohh! I've stirred the dust rising from the trenches in the deep blue sea... Skyward it floats... I see...

_ There's a lot of uncalled for laughter amongst the rabble in here today. Have they not received the memo?

_ The memo?

_ The memento left by those gone before.

_ Apparently not. They've thought things through, mind you, yet haven't so much as conceived of, no less installed, even the most basic of infrastructures: that of conveying that most basic of conveyances... a memo. As a result there are no means in place for the memo to get from 'here' to 'there'; as a result they laugh in uncalled for fashion. What is the message contained within 'the memo'?

_ You, too, must die.

_ That's pretty limiting. Howsaboy?

_ What?

_ Living?... Dying?... Howsaboy?

_ Yes. And yes. I'm intent on freeing myself from the grasp of the extra nails; I may have to leave some chunks behind.

_ At least you're busy. Imagined creatures living imagined lives... at least you're busy.

_ If you say so. Chai?

_ You see? I told you... I won't lead you astray... Not me... Indeed!.... Of course.... Is anyone sitting here? I would think so.... I sense the harijans are gathering in the damper sections of my mind. I must turn on the humidifier. The harijans... To move confidently through a library you're visiting for the first, and only, time. You see?

_ Chai?

_ Your free refill.

                                                                   ***********

... Nothing much has changed: Whomever has access to the best rocks - rocks under which we're all going to be crawling - shall be fondly remembered.

... Grasping, gasping... now what?

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Vroom-vroom

_ ' ... the Sun is but a morning star.'

_ Thoreau... Henry David Thoreau. If I recall correctly it is with that very line, that immortal bit of prose, that he brings Walden to a close.

_ Life in the woods... What do you think about electricity?

_ Fish fishing, river river; ocean far, ocean wide, deep and strong. To stand on the shore, to be able to swim, but to fear the depths.

_ That's remarkably similar to what I was thinking, only completely different. How was your walk?

_ I'll let you know when I rest; I'll let you know when I stop.

_ You ever think about buying a car?

_ No, but I often make use of one of the many left abandoned outside of convenience stores. I get in, drive to wherever it is I feel I am destined to next be, get out and continue on foot; I very rarely go over ten miles.

_ Have you ever 'made use' of a 1986, German-engineered, Pontiac Cavatelli? A 1986, German-engineered, Pontiac Cavatelli that was warming up outside my house?

_ Is your house a store?

_ No.

_ No.

_ It was stolen from my driveway a while back.

_ You were robbed when you bought it. What do you expect?

_ What do I expect? Less and less everyday.

_ We need to look beyond the striving; we need... it is an arrested silence. I could say more but with the economy the way it is I will conserve my words; besides, I was robbed when I acquired them.

_ It's not fair...

_ Iniquity is another word for birth - the plagiarized life. We are burdened with this until we sense the futility in continually expressing this lie.

_ I remember once, when I used to smoke, the momentary intrigue of tobacco resting upon my tongue; a single strand of tobacco. That was the day I stopped smoking. I have no such recollection of the economy.

_ Really? Anyway, I suggest you turn off your car and lock it while you warm it up. Chai?

_ Why?

_ It's on the menu.

_ OK.

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

... A hole in the sole of my shoe would be the only reason to consider buying a car.

... Distance traveled; distance yet to go. A hole in the sole of the world.

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