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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