Archive for June 12th, 2011

Eleven Wasted Lines on Meaningless Searching

Certain hairs on my head are always brushed aside.
Merely breathing and hoping to know it all.
Not doing the things that make life so purposeless,
not wanting to be purposeless, searching for meaning,
finding nothing but ideas about how not to be
purposeless. Wonderful ideas on people
I could never be making me clamor for more
information on how to be better. Endless searches
for the perspectives of geniuses who might make
me more capable of being a good human being,
knowing that I might be best satisfied as purposeless.

 

, , , , , , ,

4 Comments

Scary Man in Bright Parking Lot

He was tumbling through the half-full Toys-R-Us parking lot, big guy, strong guy, scary guy with soft features through his face. He was moving as much sideways as forwards, and my attention was immediately directed at his mouth by violent movements in his cheeks.

My car windows down, I was listening to Korn awfully loud, blaring really, but there was no one but Scary Guy to be disturbed by me. His mouth was working hard-core like a preacher in a tornado. He was telling us all about some fate that we were to encounter (maybe desperately serious like the end of the world), but I could not hear any of his words or sounds. It was only visual for me, the massive movements of his mouth. His eyes were pointing slightly above the building and glancing straight up spasmodically, briefly in slight jolts.

Fear pierced me for no reason. Korn continued to blare without a concern but my mind was not listening. “I can always say, ‘It’s gonna be better tomorrow.’”

Who was he screaming at? No one was nearby. Scary guy, ducking just a bit, tested the lock on a red SUV. It must have been locked – Scary Guy moved on without much concern about who saw him checking the car handle. The lot was full of various vehicles. Surely some had some valuables. Scary man was maybe a Zebra that got out of the zoo, should be locked up, perhaps allowed to watch TV and play cards, but somehow he was in the wildest playground he had been in since being locked up. If he found money, would he be self-sufficient enough to catch a bus, a bus south?

“Falling away from me; beating me down; beating me; beating me down; down; into the ground…”

I wondered – surely all of the cars in the lot were locked. Surely we are all aware of the safety procedures, all of the precautions, all of the minute but critical steps we must take to protect our inordinately valuable property because our property tells us who we are and it shows all the others who we are, what we are. It’s a fake community and we all work hard to preserve our identities and our things. All of our things help us become completely separate and then we do not need to be plagued by the psychic, emotional viruses in the community and the guys calling for contributions to the zoo fund.

, , , , , , ,

4 Comments

My Day in Six Words – XXV

Me,

The Prodigy,

dogs percolating crazy.

, , , , , , ,

4 Comments

%d bloggers like this: