“Every bird that flies has the thread of the infinite in its claw.” ~ Victor Hugo
“The existence of the writer is an argument against the existence of the soul, for the soul has obviously taken flight from the real ego, but not improved itself, only become a writer.” ~ Franz Kafka
“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” ~ Ray Bradbury
Here in a northern notch of El Prado, New Mexico, the Trickster is afoot in the land. The neighborhood dogs know it, and well, and as I sat outside my door a short while ago I found myself thinking about one big dog in particular, who was making the biggest and most raucous protest, and I’m like all: dude chill dude, yer gonna squeeze that heart right into the ER dude. Yeh. There was also a lack of the forecast moisture in the form of snow. It will come, they say; three back-to-back storms. Not to mention that Donald John Trump becomes President today. Barak Obama’s term is over. Fuck it, I’ll cry later. I’ve got a work day ahead of me, selling hardware and housewares, and probably a few candy bars and snack chips as well. I listen for rhythm, for cadence, in these sentences as I write. I feel strangely into it as I loom over the keyboard like some . . . oh, for the love of Mike my mood is not that dark. At my side, down on the floor, sits a box of unused metaphors, and when I glance down every once in a while they look forever like a box of tribbles, and I’m like Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, and I be all like dude, haven’t we got better things to do dude? I want to strongly emphasize here that it came as a mild shock to me that the word “tribble” is already in spellchek! There is yet hope for the world. I mean, Star Trek has acquired countless fans along the way, but only those of you who directly experienced the 60s will likely know just what this means to me. Deep stuff, the stuff stars are made of. Yeh. I write “60s” and my monkey mind thoughts squirrel on over to the scene from “Field of Dreams” where James Earl Jones is spraying pesticide from an old school manual pump fumigator all over Kevin Costner, because Costner has just admitted that he is from the 60s. Kevin has just driven his vintage Volkswagen bus over 1200 miles, from Iowa to Boston, to seek out James Earl Jones, because Jones is an iconic inspiration as a writer about freedom, and James breaks out the Roundup?! Un-fuckin-believable. I know, I know, my writing is drifting a little toward the vulgar side this morning. My bad. I’ll step outside and chill a spell. It’s 28º. I’ll go without my knit cap. My brain is on fire with a sense of urgency. The sense of urgency is always there, but it is stronger today for some reason. Busy backson.
Yeh, that sense of urgency. Adrenals locked and loaded at the best of times. No praise no blame. But sitting outside for a few minutes did cool me down a bit. Now, here I sit, with the cat asleep beneath my chair, and a box of tribbles at my side. Life is pretty good for me right now, regardless of the low moan urgency I just mentioned. Dark times are upon us, no doubt. I could sit here and write it all out as it unfolds. Nope, work shift today. No can do. But it is the creative drive I exercise this morning, as I do almost every morning. The drive is one of the blessings in my life. Hey, I almost lost this life some 33 years ago. That’s good, right? Yeh. I love my job. I am receiving monthly Social Security benefits, so I can afford to live a little instead of tabla rasa subsistence. I have an uplifting sweet smiling’ infatuation these days. My cat’s diabetes is totally regulated. No time for more blessing counting. Yeh, maybe one more. I love a good hot shower. I call it a shower vortex. Time gets all distorted and stuff when I am in the shower. I’m like all OMG I only have time for a quick shower before work! And that sprawls out into 20 minutes, and yet I still get to work on time. I am painfully punctual, often right down to the minute. And yet I only have time for a quick one this morning. I just feel dirty, what with the inauguration and all. I don’t know. I’ll have a good day. Three days this past week I have actually felt happy. I don’t remember the last time I have felt it at all, much less three days in a row.This is a good way to begin. Yeh. A good way.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.