The infinite universe is apprehended through the compression algorithm derived by multiplexing peripheral input of limited array of spectrophotometers, mass spectrometers, pressure plates and gyroscopes, honey whether you do or you don’t believe, we can at least agree, something mysterious in each one of us, something dangerous and petty, violent if necessary, perverted and unsanitary, vestigial and involuntary, pentangular plenipotentiary to enemy territory, the immortal and the way of the monastery beckoning back to the caves and trees, in the dark ages, the shaded places of history whereby many peaceful graces worked the land with fellow hand and hand far from the walled and wicked cities, filth and grime in every crevice, paved with misery, lapping up luxuries but dumpster dive for decency, disposable identities, life-size cardboard intimacy, in a grand sort of Ad hominem fallacy, prithee praytell what in the living hell is the moral of this droll and dilatory postmodern tribalist twenty-four hour newsrecycling convenience story, a cultural no-go zone of sedimentary slaves in existential promontory?
Quiet for a moment
Let everything speak at once
The forest of geometries leaves nothing out
Ravines deepen at night and fill at dawn
Go on down as far as you dare
Set foot to stair as the light dries
A place to visit but don’t live there
Let us notice that we notice ourselves
The whole thing knows itself
The mess on painted shelves
Level and square stacked salt
Nature grows us as crystals.
We make crystals too
We are nature too
Hands of five carve space into life
We the highly reactive compounds
We cannot help but leave a trace
Let us not walk lightly through this place
Let us encrust the entrusted trusses
upholding the starry dome of consciousness
with the wet dust of our yearning mineral pigments
Let’s leave a fossil record
Evidence in layers of sentiment
Let the shape of our loving bones
Impress the ancient stones
And prove we’re not alone
Take it easy, take it, ease. I live with you. In the same world as your duodenum and your vanity and the cat on your lap. Here we sit with North Korean super villains in American Splendor, a perpetual render bar progressing to singularities, regressing towards the mean, the hipster fucks and bohemian brigands, politicians and instagram following sycophants, the coalition of willingness to deceive what uncommon decency, gaslight the railroad run in wallpaper patterns with swollen social vesicles, reactionary compound chemicals. Nothing is what it seems in our alternate realities, subjective interpretation of impersonation in this our most lucid of dreams.
I want to die for you it’s just taking me awhile. You can’t rush a sacrifice, the path is suffering, the path is sorrow, the path is winding through rivers of time ever in tomorrow’s past and yesterday’s schedule, nights where you wake up screaming, dawning light from under the doorway streaming Netflix, steaming veggies in your pjs, vaporizing a heavy CBD Sativa, the Spiritual Leader, Grey Bearded Singer, Dock Hand, Sinners and Saints all the same thing, a blue dot in a sunbeam, a microscopic menagerie of wise mammalian ancestry, life on earth’s rapids river, species ripples flowing over each other in woven textures, we only look different by some small percentage, but the difference matters. It all matters. It’s all matter.
So smoke a couple joints, think for a minute, father your strength and mother your harmony, we’re only learning, we only know by doing, writing to read our minds, encountering the new crime in novels, the friendships the heartache the tantrums and fits we throw when life chucks us a what the fuck moment and so on we go to the stars; a nonesuch never before seen Pluto, a Kuiper Belt in psychic judo straddle the event horizon as it melts into a chocolate and vanilla swirl of arms akimbo in the constellation Limbo.
Born into real estate slavery, water might be the one remaining place that’s free to live in, a pacific public property, but is it fit for a family to live sustainably?
With labor and collective thinking, maybe. Nothing that ever comes easy is worth it. Nothing is ever as hard as it seems. Maybe there’s freedom in poverty, in the post-apocalyptic Gini coefficient we might yet fear into being.
Why do we give all of our time to a place we hate, doing things we tolerate, just to take time off for a change? People leave their marriage just like changing socks. They drop off their kids like a post on a blog. What would happen if we all just walked away from our jobs?
What if we left behind the arrogance, the nautilus of pride? What if we never lied? Those comments made in a mood one day, the white wine one time things that were said, they live on long after we’re dead, a plastic Texas floating in oceanic tragedy.
Why get paid a minimum-wage for your finite and precious days? Life is a game for the living to play; everyone that’s alive today is making the world what it is in their own special way. A chess match you can’t take the moves back, once you take your finger off the peace, that’s that. It’s finished. Rome was sacked. There’s no going back home. Dead and buried. Long gone the creed of cutthroat. Get up and get on down the road. Don’t let them get your goat. Dig a foundation, not a moat.
The less you talk the more you hear. The more I listen patiently, brush away the dirt of ages to peace together shards of pottery, the handiwork of my ancestry, the more I find they’re so much like me. They live and die and in between they find the time to love and sleep and eat. What did you do today? How can I help? What do you need?
Forgiveness granted, even withstanding our fierce brutality, the violent tendencies of matter stirring restlessly in the torment of a rageful cosmic fantasy, lava spilling into sea until the butterfly of the conscious mind alights upon the flower of our humanity.