It is a gentle sound, row-row-rowing
Wondering in the cold, wonder, walking, stiff legs, knees don’t really bend.
But then! Shots of green, yellow, looking up- kicking up dust in boots I want, looking back- I confused desire with not wanting to admit fear. Looking down below, but that music still comes, not sure if I’m going to get there. A common way to go for sure. But to realize that?
Cooking kale in solitude, old bread- not sure what it is that I taste. I’m not hungry, just remember those experiences I’ve never had, chasing you through the woods. And I don’t think of thirst, I don’t think of the dead animals in these woods, or mothers losing children, or dismemberment. It has all happened! See it is not so bad, isn’t it funny to be at this point? It does seem like it is new but we know it’s not. We know it’s not, remember. Remember when we would talk this way or think of the beach, or think of houses we would never own…
Okay now it’s really orange light. There is definitely that good kind of wonder…it was actually a field I found myself in. There was mud and the vegetation was yellow. Like really yellow man, the shit was dead. I was nervous- how could I be comfortable…nervous now more than ever- just worrying, a way of life along with that metallic shit I have to drink, strange indian medicine to sleep, every day is the same with small gastrointestinal hiccups, but that can be alleviated, just need to um… do something.
Fuck, it wasn’t like there was anything to say, and her waist was at my eye line- I didn’t know what I was dealing with, it was the first time I saw her and my flesh was actually scales, like reptilian, it was a small change for sure, but I could feel that pressure in my head, above my eyes- yeah remember when we pushed those buttons.
yes yes I’m here, just sitting, yes yes I’m here ever gently watching
No reason really, clouds of delusion- but we should go. God, I’ve done this dance so many times, when can it be over- wait I thought this was the orange light time. Oh, did I tell you she can mimic my words, I think she knows more than me, just can’t articulate it- it’s there, just deep down, maybe in the uterus. Is it still an interesting ride? Maybe, shit isn’t perfected- sometimes you can feel it, this medium, the technology that is oh so sleek, and the phrases you think you thought, or know that you will think- that give you that little inclination that yes, this is some good sugar, well, it doesn’t really cut it. I don’t know, that’s what they say- and they’re pretty old! I mean, this kind of experience is almost over for them and then what, do you remember what it was like?
Can you just burrow into yourself while the chicken you don’t want to eat cooks in the oven? I mean, like all that forget the world type speak that you hear on the headphones or maybe the loud speaker, or maybe people actually do that, or how about yeah this is the way we do it, or how about wow they live by the ocean, or how about wow they just drive cars to their jobs, or how about- it’s an old city and you have this attitude where you don’t want a disposable cup because you just don’t understand. Or what about that time you saw that sign and thought it was real and you had to follow it because you didn’t even know where was an alternative? What if it hurts to um um um, what, oh man I don’t know… uh *sigh* or I mean, back, wait- no man, he just practices a lot, that’s all. Maybe I could do that someday, some day soon, day day day, calling- oh yesssss
He’s still going (he did practice after all) and the neck thing, and the spit, and that’s gross, and you don’t know this person that well, soh well.
And then there are these stories you hear, sky high tales, deep in canyons, world travelers! and these apps and this money and lots of protein and these drinks that cost an arm and a leg, I tell you! I mean that’s what I think…. but this little oasis where you hear those birds and there is actual green and blue, and these soft stones that seem to like you, and there is this man that knows like, knows
Perhaps this doesn’t mean anything, perhaps it is a way to just avoid work, cause I don’t need to be disciplined in this information economy- affective labor man, yeah and like kids can major in music, and yeah like kids can cut hair through these tech start up companies, and still drink and revel and all the shit, and legs still get cut off and genitals still get stuffed in mouths, and old men rant and rave on the cable television shows about history, and you don’t even know you did that kind of shit. Or you didn’t even know you ate in a kitchen before. Or you didn’t even know what it was not like to have bread. So just appreciate and try to recycle. I do my part- what about you? And he just laughs not really understanding the appeal of it all.
I guess the chicken was frozen so it takes longer, okay, well in that case….the civil war wasn’t about slavery, it was economics. Oh god- no, come on let’s go check out our new P.O. box and see who sent us things, or how about paint with the man who doesn’t have shoes, no no, lets go back to the yellow field. Yes! The hiking socks! The muddy boots! Scabs and bugs…I mean listen, they’ve never raised anyone before- it’s not like there is a book- I mean yes there are, many in fact, but I got these feelings and like, I feel um, like this shit has happened all before, like I can picture your mom’s whole life and somehow it doesn’t compare to the taste of the sugar. I feel bad about it, is it just that simple, that manipulation, biochemical unadulterated sugar. Fuck it, I like chicken rare.