a long running water of sentences to deprive forests and energy. this is pain and reward, new life. this nation, whatever. nations. nations based on slavery. under the soil are human faces trampled on the way to getting here, to the current. a currency, a current flow of sentences. we don’t really pick our presidents, they pick us, they get to do what they want to us. there is an undercurrent, undertow, a bad mix, day in and out. explaining a big picture poorly. small pictures are easier. from ten feet away, the window panes are black or dark grey, it gets darker earlier since October, and for now, just a little warmer. different things represent different things. temperatures represent roller-coasters. roller-coaster engineers must have exciting lives. a joke of mine, a scenario, goes something like: a company approaches the mastermind, the builder goes, oh, you want a new roller-coaster, huh? he takes a sheet of paper and scribbles all over it like a 3 year old with crayons, and goes – there’s your goddamn shit right there! this, told late at night, punchy, experiencing low blood sugar, is something otherworldly in my mind’s eye to the point of my wanting to turn all the furniture upside down and create yet more roller-coaster contractor dialogue. it can work with anything. rip the guy’s tie off and throw it in the fireplace, pull it back out. stomp it all into the floor. you want a roller-coaster, huh? there’s your goddamn shit right there!
so, my realm. as much as it can be, this is my space. so sit down. that’s what I have to say to some of these people, be gruff with them, because they choose to push their weight around, because they’re so competitive. my competition with you might be to compare jokes, made up situations about dream-like, “ridiculous,” events to take the sting out of what you esteem to be so real and should be taken so serious. much of the time you come to me all worried with these “impossible” tasks at work and I just laugh them off. other times I have my own struggles with a machine and am not so trouble free.
I’ve been writing out memories lately. it will be good to continue with this, combining it all with the present. in the present I am writing about what comes up right now in the immediate. then I remember old times, ideas, and as you know, jokes. the jokes mix with the old times, because that’s when they were told. and I’ve told the same jokes on numerous occasions in which they’ve had a variety of responses. there is so much life in one thing and is not necessarily old the second, third, or forth time around it’s told. it is the person, the way a person tells it, that can be old, and that goes in this case for even the first time. jokes fall into the blueprint of the world, the blueprint of life, whatever that blueprint is. myself, I don’t know, or get riled up in those “so a guy walks into a bar” kind of jokes. I suppose I’m on and off comedic. at times I feel my mind so simple, all I write is, “I am looking at the wall over there, it is a red wall, when I look out the window I see a boy petting his dog, the boy and dog run over a hill, the grass is still green and it has not snowed. it is a bright red wall. a light brown dog. a fair young boy. a sun in the sky.” and I have to write it with indignation, or what business do I have doing it at all? taking time doing this means the time I have to do other things in life, like finishing up Dostoevsky novels, is replaced. think about that. what you’re doing now is replacing something else. what you’re doing now better be worth it.
I want to go deeply into what that means as person thinking still using his mind but not always focused on broadcasted news in the world. when I do take time for that, I get so pissed when they throw in some gossip about Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck, naturally assuming this is what I’m interested in since I did after all, express an interest in the weather forecast to see if I should wear my jacket outside or not, and I suppose also, as I’m walking down the street bundled up, I should be thinking about JoLo and Bro Bro if they’re going to get married or not, and what kind of party they’ll throw, and imagine, imagine all the ordinary dreams doll houses are pieced together with if they’re available with high bandwidth.
high definition on sheets of drug store notebook paper. pills all over the house prescribed by doctors, and those prescriptions let up once they determined certain disease announcements were unwarranted but are still unaware of what has thrown a wrench in me and is rusting my right leg off. tonight’s pain by the time I got home was tremendous. had vegan ice cream and went straight to bed, woke up for Angel, a brilliant episode, at 9pm. Wesley tricked evil with his bigger heart, let’s put it like that. that shit is real television, not even television, just vision. shows like 7th Heaven attempt the same old patented ideas because they are without vision. and please don’t tell me I’ve started a 7th Heaven flame war. I will let you be the martyr. no need to get bloodied up over shit like that. or over ideas? you think? don’t know how close I’m supposed to hold ideas, how seriously I’m supposed to take them. any of it. a person can be free spirited, rigid, frigid, tight, tense, cold, hot headed, low key, high sprung, gifted, heroic, empowered, or a coward, some or all of it, or dead in the ground none of it, up in heaven above it, in hell below it, in limbo, a ghost all around it. and proud of it. ashamed of it. it’s all about how you use it. time spent in your different vehicles. don’t abuse it.
more on the boy and dog outside under sun
and enjoying each others company, running, playing out there
love, true love, blood healthy in the architecture
of the body flowing through in the color blue until
contact with oxygen, unlike television, not trapped
inside a high school locker.
I was a boy with cats, single child. quiet. a painful awkward batch of decades, little lifetimes, nevertheless still a part of me. something to sigh to. something to admit, something to accept. some things to be glad for. look back and laugh. go to bed and crash.
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