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porcupine
USA
193 Posts |
 Posted - Nov 19 2008 : 12:27:21 AM
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For five years I have lived on this road and I have seen many things, fires that smell like barbecues being the most strange of them all. So it was interesting to find on the corners of all the sidewalks in New York one fine evening, there was a bottle of milk, emptied, and with a scroll inside containing directions to 'land of song'. Well, being a man not to miss up any prospective oppurtunity in this life of lives I picked up one of those bottles, yanked out the looseleaf note paper, filled it with some ginger tea from home and set out on a journey to recover my lost melody. The traffic lights all seemed to be in a permanent state of red for me that night and no one was out, being alone for the first time in what must have been a long time made me ponder things like the formation of stains on my jacket. How beautiful they were, and yet how irrelevant to the point, I questioned why they would be there, and in whose logic did they arise? Einstein surely had nothing to do with it, nor Brahms with his fine pointed symphonies. I sat for a long time on the stoop of a tall building, with no sense of place or time just thinking about this and it got me nowhere.
I woke up from a good dream that I could not quite remember, yet the image of some happy people swirling around in a field made of lilac seemed to stick out in my head. Immediately I was dumbfounded to be back once again in this same old place, the yellowness of whitewalls eeking in at me from every direction, sunlight calling the essence of whatever into my body as I prepared to rise again. It was not dramatic. I had to keep telling myself that where one falls asleep is where one will wake up, except on a boat or plane and its as simple as that. The trees outside swayed in the wind, muffled howls of which came through the window and reminded me how warm I actually was. In the suburb of Trenton, things happen like they would anywhere else. At breakfast, I sat alone though usually my parents are there to speak of things that I stopped giving a **** about a long time ago and made it a habit to contradict in every thought and conscious action, it was almost tragic, the classic story of a rebel without a cause, painting tears in the sand of blue collar living with his bare hands. They were gone though, perhaps at their jobs, leaving me time to eat an apple and meditate, and be relaxed and free and non productive.
Chomp, chomp, chomp. I thought of books I had read and how they would narrate this experience, realizing I had subconsciously been emulating the works of my friends, who wrote and who were damn good. I shrugged it off, I took off my glasses. Today was going to be a good day, because the universe and I are one, and the universe is eternal bliss. Huzzah. I did not shower, I clothed myself in the strangest clothing I could find, a turban and two pillow cases I had made into pants, and walked into the mirror.
It was entirely too ****ing wierd, so I decided to just wear jeans and my trusty jacket. Outside the wind still blew and I honestly didn't want to go out there and face the swirling unstable energies of an untamed world but I knew I had to because I was the only one who knew anything anymore, since the televisions programs began to more and more resemble strange hypnotic messages from another world.
Lightning struck as I crossed the threshold of the door to outside, a few seconds later the rain began, so I started laughing and thus began my walk.
All the neighborhood seemed as stoic and boxed in as usual, I alone the only one brave enough to face a little electricity and water. Still following me was that lingering feeling that someone, and most likely many people were somehow observing me, leaving comment in my head.
"Its a beautiful day, innit?"
I made no response, and crossed the field the was in front of my house onto property that was unclaimed. The town of Trenton used to be a series of farms, but now many houses began to spring up. In them, people went about reading and raising children. I didn't want to have a part of that, but I was drawn into it because I needed them to survive. But I always sympathized with that Nick Drake song, where he sing "I am the parasite of this town". I sympathize with Nick Drake because he was a ****ing artist, just like everyone else in this world, and yet, he still wanted respect. He yearned for it, no. Nick Drake seemed to just want to be left alone yet not be lonely. I could see him in some log cabin somewhere, smoking moderate amounts of weed, writing songs and watching things happen, but even that was too much because it was too centralized. Who are these figures, and who am I as an identity? A question that promptly comes up as I pass where the tall grass starts to spring up but no tick never came. I looked to the skies and in every direction was thick gray cloud, there was a sun back there somewhere but me being a small creature full of wonder and at mercy of various elements could only dream of seeing it. Rain continued to come, I continued to enjoy being slowly weighed down, squishing my shoes in the mud, the sound was deep. So deep...
I couldn't see much, and what I did see was water, everywhere, something about it makes me happy. Its the fact that being wet, in rain that comes out of the sky is something that can't be adequately described to you by any foriegner or highwayman, its something that you can only begin to make out in a lake or at the beach, sipping a cup of water. All I could do was list and list, and wander around in that field and think of Nick Drake, all I wanted to do was get better. Finally I fell back on the grass and sank into the ground, listening to distant thunder, singing to myself do do dos, smiling. Grass, sinking, ground.
I knew that it wouldn't get much more interesting than this, pasta could have made it more bearable, or a hot cup of ginger tea, but I had none of these things, nor the means to manifest them and so I began to get anxious. I sat up and there was mud all over my back so I laid back down again... about five thousand drops hit me, then rising once more against maybe ten thousand an idea struck me, in my back pocket was a roach with some weed in it from three days ago. Glad that I wear the same pants often, I stood up completely and fished it out from behind me. My lighter was there too. Thinking quickly, I dashed for the side of the field.
"Those maples will provide enough cover for me to light this!"
The mud sank more and I became more and more heavy but it felt good, kind of like dancing, once again a good time was being had. Arriving under the tree I tried to get a flame, but nothing. I tried for at least three minutes and then I stopped and decided to just eat it. That probably was not gonna work, but **** it, I need better things to do in this world.
Starting to feel a little bit different but not much, I once again heading out into the field. I was there that I saw the light. Jesus appeared before me.
"Jesus!" I cried, it had been a while since I had seen him, but why did he come at this point? Was I needed somewhere.
"Jesus, you need to get out of here, the sky, the rain... these are all signs of bad weather, you see? Bad weather means that we could speak for hours and still feel horrible, no God could ever save us now, we are doomed."
Jesus only smiled, and handed me a jolly rancher. Suddenly all became clear to me, life, which as I had correctly theorized many years prior was basically total bullsh*t, illusion and served no true point except as an alternative to the so called 'true reality' of infinite not not not not not not not not nothingness that would otherwise exist, was merely a test, as disclosed in the bible. A test, of our love, this life was a sensual life indeed, no matter where you go, you are either driven by sex or by some roundabout way of getting to sex without being obvious about it, like celibacy. Both paths, were equal in that they ended in death. Everyone dies. I quicky took the jolly rancher and began to enjoy its flavor, then I took out of my mouth and tossed it into the grass.
"Its a koan..."
Jesus was unimpressed. I knew he would be because he doesn't know what he doesn't know, he was asking me, of course to die, to make the sacrifice that he pretended to so that the entirety of existence could finally be free of this monotonous pattern of trite dreck. I looked him in the eye, those beady eyes. I said,
"Jesus, I would do it, ya know? I don't really give a ****, and frankly it gets boring and lame, but I don't want to have to deal with the pain, or the fact that it might not work.. I mean suicide is a risky thing... it can be a bitch, if I may speak frankly,"
Jesus nodded and explained that his actual name was Ted, many other details that I felt were frankly made up and meant to confuse me, then he says, "Well actually you don't have to commit suicide, just do what you want dude, and stop listening to other people so much, they aren't supposed to like everything you do, eventually somebody will get really angry and kill you quick and painless if you do indeed be living to the max as you.. should, I mean even I had an issue there, I like other people, what can I say, I wanted them to like me, so I faltered a bit, I got a pretty slow death, but you've got a good head on you seemingly, you just need to take action, little dude, you need to start living the dreammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"
So I said okay, and I punched him in the face, then I apologized and we made out briefly (but it felt like forever :)
), then I went about my normal life because art cannot be rushed. I am not yet insane enough for that sh*t, but one day... then I found more weed, and I thanked God for it, because he really knew what was up, and it stopped raining too, hey!
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Edited by - porcupine on Nov 19 2008 12:35:02 AM |
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