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.

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... 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.

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... 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!

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... 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.

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... 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.

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

... I am...

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