(A prose investigating what happens when
one thinks too fast for too few ideas).Picture if you will, full lips wrapped around a pipe denying it's smoky plume, Shredded dresses priced as high gear, the possibilities of wide ties and thick lapels and belt buckles the size of home base coming together in an historical turn, a sartorial demand. It frightens me to think of these things, nervousness inhabits the veins the blood attempt to pulse through with something resembling a life.Squinting into blurred fluorescent lights that burn away the dark and make the evening appear as nothing less than a dark tarp highlighted with the reminders of picnic meals during the daylight hours gives you nothing less than a headache that feels like a fist formed behind both eyeballs, clenched and ready to burst forth. Being fully dressed and in a terrain where nothing you love matters, nothing you care about interests the people walking by, faces in profile and downcast, revealing double chins and hairlines that retreat like toy armies, is over rated and the source of swift vertigo that starts at the top of the head and is nothing else than the imagined cord of the elevator snapping loudly, there is a jolt, you lose your balance, there is no time for your life to flash in front of you, it's all basement and fatality, but this was only how you felt, not how you actually crashed , there is nausea along the feeling of decent, a reassurance that illness rather than dark corridors are in your future, you think fevered thoughts about sweating dreams and come no closer to any revelation about what makes this moment in time keep ticking even though it seems as if you've been hear since before concrete came to the community and every drive way was a thick mire you walked around if you could.
Better to be attending an elevated Mass, a refuge from in some hamlet where there are only phone books and want ads, admonishing the earth of slow down, to stay in place, to give a break on the gravity which costs nothing at all and costs us everything to defy as we ease ourselves between mountain ranges \and large bodies of water. Large bodies of water deep enough to take the sun and moon into its embrace every start and end of day when it was time to adjust the light and blink again to make sure that what we see is indeed in front of us and not the echo of a memory that colors the tears and dread laughter embedded in the seams of what is in the cards right now, right now, right goddamned now. Have a drink, a soda, a shot of tequila, a bottle of sloppy intent that makes the world a stream you swim through and which makes you collide with all things thought and moved around, this is the time to demand the results of what you've yelled in your mind, get out of my way, this is the moment where all things must be done, done over, or done away with, or ignored absolutely while you read last week's mail again and rattle the coffee can where you dropped the nickles and dimes that are sucked up by the vacuum cleaner, that rainy day fund, that fund for a dry mouth.
The whole thing sinks, against better judgment, my clenched and shaking fist, acres and acres of prime land boast the late bloom of architectural tyranny, coyotes, rodents, families that have crossed the border seeking work flee the drying cement and are crushed halfway across the Interstate as police and Television station helicopters chase one car full of guys who might or might] not have done something someone a hundred years ago didn't like when the music became too much like sex and men and women couldn't help but notice what there was to see beyond the archaeology of clothes. Meanwhile, meanwhile, in all the mean time that never lightens up to what each hour means it's time for, whole populations huddle in corners and vote amongst themselves for better dreams, visions from windows overlooking a coast line where they can live with the comings and goings of every tide and slap of wave against a white pier.