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porcupine
USA
193 Posts |
 Posted - Nov 08 2008 : 12:11:22 PM
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Ganja is a really good plant, I used to smoke it so much, I got so stoned and wondered if I would ever come down. Thank god, the doors to this world are not yet so closed as to destroy things completely, and a revolution seems to be afoot, spinning in the opposite direction, I was on the corner of some busy street trying to blend in with the bench and watching people in every direction, going about their lifes, planting the seeds of some great scheme only they could fully comprehend, but then I know we are all one. I hear on the wind what they think of me, and couldn't care less because I'm heading out of this place, out of babylon like I do every wednesday at 3 and they know its got nothing to do with opinionated games. Getting up and dusting off whatever lint might be on my jacket, I started to walk and think of that old song. I used to have so much more allure and talent, I thought, I have truly washed up. And indeed, that morning in the shower it seemed like I had finally discovered the true properties of soap. Its just a game, that is, to resist the shampoo because its a sham and the conditioner because it conditions. The station manager looked up when I enter the trainstation, they know me by now as that stoner dude, and honestly I am not sure what it is that makes me forget the entire system of card fare and never have quite enough money to gt through, but they all know me now and I don't mind standing on one side, watching others go through, imagining thats acid in the fare instead of plain cardboard. Its a mutual thing, except on my side perhaps its all made up. I'm really not sure, but I don't see a need to question it. So many conversations with these old 1970s types, saying that I'm too cool, they know whats up, people want me to smoke them out. Its all about the backpack, I say go to the corner of 5th and 7th and pick up the empty water bottles there and itll come about. But what the ****? In california, now theres a good place, but one beyond the scope of any discernable point. Cruising underground the lights look like stars, and remind me of the artificiality immanent in all things, it seems like they've grown to understand eachother though. The girl sitting there looks are me, and I look at the window, then I look to the back, then I look at the guy, then I look back at her. Theres girls in the back trying to get old guys turned on. Theres me, wishing I could just be smoking a bowl. I really don't care for sex, and dealing with other peoples bullsh*t, and I guess I make that apparent, by giving out bullsh*t. sh*t is art, though.
I got off and the air seemed different, rockville air is like nicely woven. Its like someone was calm this town is like a ghost kind of, I think but hey. Walking along more past all the stores and cars. Its difficult to cross roads at some points but I am in no rush, which cars don't seem to understand. Worry about yourself. I am just off the the side of the road, to the old shed, where one day there will be warm fires and two cats, and like that song by CSNY. I don't know, I really don't, its too large and cumbersome to carry all these things in the back. But the weight is alleviated with each breath.
I remember the days it was like, I thought I could make it and I lay in the gutter and blew bubbles, the rain fell and I was really truly happy for the first time, I could never find that trying to make a life in the boxy gardens of cities. It was hueing that brought me into it fully and got me to drop any notion of broken back or someone on the road still, looking for a light in a window. I got me to come to terms with the fact that I'd been a slave for the past three thousand years and now that liberation had come, I was totally dumbfounded. Occasionally I met a friend and I said, its indescribable, its unexplainable, wishing I had the courage to grab their nose and cry right there but, thats too theatrical for my taste, why can't we just bee content to study and translate the texts and the plants. Rivers go many places and bring many spirits, but these spirits are not wine. Wine is not to cry, but with more H maybe, I don't know anything about herion though. I've just been thoroughly smacked, once, and now just a washed up sailor on the high seas of celebration. So as the chains came off metaphorically I began to wonder, were my preconcieved notions of freedom still relevant? The water continued to wet, the sky still opened, I still breath.
"I'm never gonna break my stride,
ain't no one gonna hold me down,
oh no, I got to keep on moving."
That old matthew wilder song blew through on another plane, suddenly it was the open expanse beyond you on the inhale and I knew it wasn't a matter. I sang and it was clear and it did nothing and that was it. Sang to myself and there was no one there. Danced too, there were rings, swirls, mantles, bowls of soup spilling. Who plays soccer on a hot day and sweats the nectar of caterpillars? Where does the bigness in space retrace the smallest atom and inspire a kid. I dropped the **** out, a few adventures and well. The reverie ended there and I looked out over the rafters and out the door, sun beaming in pretty and together it all looked like some funny robot from the next century. I couldn't help but smile, it all felt so... egyptian. I really had died, at last. Outside, a call, my old friend, or someone new, all these places have the same looks and subtle differences. The stink bug moved slowly across the fractured stump and how it had landed was anyones guess.
Sweet sweet, lorraine, the one who brought trance to he west, the praying mantis in all my forgotten dreams, the rolling R in Mykola's french. Love of life and that moody mother****er on the barstool I never reached. You explain your trips through wierd taps. Do you hear me? I'm listening to Albert Ayler, I'm still looking for bud, I'm still studying the sutras and standing up for small creatures everywhere. She replied, "You should calm down, if you want,"
"Why? Why should I calm down, when I don't even understand why I would be on the mountain at noon, and in this wind, I can barely breath much less sit quietly and calm."
"Because, this is only a change of form that you asked for earlier becuse you got bored of sitting there, don't you remember being in the back of the bus and putting your arms around my shoulder and then talking about going back and forth, not getting off?"
"No, frankly, I think you are out to harvest my healing and leave us in Saratoga like Davy Rodman on that old train gang love forte"
Then all the bad vibrations faded away. Outside the window I saw graffiti names I couldn't read but they were beautiful and pure like
We hit canada at last and saw deer become moose, I imagined snow, let my feet dangle in the air. It was nice being up here with the birds but.. pulling back the string on the bow I put it down, there is no targe in to woods below.
Blow gently on the match and it goes out. The statement is everywhere, baseheads becoming acidheads. The statement is everywhere can you rewrite it so I can understand. I smirked at him, trying to spit battle rhymes at me. I said , if you weren't supposed to be some kinda pure soul I wouldn't wiped you over the rainbow with a toothpick, and he asks How far it is?
It is the length of peace in your piece, and for a family this is some real sh*t. Now the words start falling out the book and hitting jay walkers in their mid steps, I can just head nod, I can just boogie down. Wheres the real essentials? Not anywhere in this vicinity, alchemists bringing times into laps and I knew this lady who would try to predict the future on phone lines. Old traditions like that. I confess, being only a pawn on the board, when someone comes about in such a way, and doesn't know the rules of the game, I feel a certain relief, because this sh*t is mad bullsh*t.
But digress, its time I gave readers a little backround.
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Sleeping like a Dog
