The 33rd Harmonic

Rack up the justices, print them off on white paper please. Think about the results if you could just wind them up and let them go! Think about it. On now with the black oxide vapors or, even better, the phaser cell trimeladine. Paraphrase it, watch it polarize, then scale it. Scale it until it fits into the small of your back. Put it back there and forget about it. The condition always, always, solidifies anything that may have remained amorphous otherwise.

I think it was just last year that I caught up with a old thought of mine. An abused and overused thought. Over abused in the sense (only) that I came back to it: mealtime. A winning or losing proposition depending on which side of the political fence you stand on. An endless, faceless sight (of it) of demise and heroic gestures waiting to get on a bus or slip into the back of your car. It came out of my dreams as I wished. When in Rome.

A slipback, or a converse statement, used to show under appreciation for things that you should appreciate more. Slide back into a chair in the air-conditioning and you'll know what I mean. Call back your dad sometime when he calls or go on a bike hike with an old friend. Savor a meatball. We're all really glad everything's turned out the way it has. No stone walls or broken mirrors to worry about. Galatia was another one of those memories that required a particular keen interest in order to understand, which they always seemed to make into another one of those macaroni/glue projects or something of that sort.

Forgaps, Mark, who entered my soul disharmoniously, in a flannel, who died a dank death from a formidable American opponent. He achieved a hilltop state of mind and drifted in and out of illusory pulses. This damn near reached the lieutenant's desk. This left everyone in a state of panicked gasping and orchestrated scratching at the bone. Interests: anything real estate, and I mean anything. That will always take you to an unfocused place that leads to an expedited trail of tears. Old cowboys on speed.

So, in the end, like the river, on towards the sea. Click, click, click of an old razor steam bus. Silver bullet vomit short-train. No shouting match with an auto will stop me now. The gift of ultimate partitioned nonsense. Clever it. It will follow you to you own self-identification, which in this day is not really achievable without a great sacrifice. March, march, march to a foreign tune. find yourself in a lazily painted doorway and look for a small, bright light. Don't believe it, but absorb it. Keep moving, don't stop for the siren call, don't think twice. That's what they'll ask. Contract, contract, contract, then expand in a single motion. Let them laugh or whatever, but remain in a pose ready to crush collapse. Take all of the ideas and crush collapse. But be prepared. It's not what it expects.

When I was at 78% complete, I saw a red halo. I saw the best minds of dozen friends go up in a dust haze. I saw 50 some odd years of words and humor in a sunburst. I lapsed out a pinball route and never thought I could complete it (I never did either). All of this and another melody started piling up in my Netflix que and I figured out a real way to deal with any trauma but I kept it all locked in the side barrel of heat cycle. One, two, then ten cycles later I got a lesson in efficiency. That became my focus and, like real estate, was a dead end. There was no answers afterall, only the illusion of a cracked vault with a gold bottom, covered in slate stone and menacing me with intense gravitation. Legs show no gratitude under these conditions and knees turn to potato lust. After it's all said, and mostly done, you could have it worse, and he did. Indeed. Certainly. He was a USC film student making Indie movies with Indie music. The ultimate black widow illusion of truth filled with poisonous venom waiting to fill your brain corpuscle and burst your time frame. Instead, next time, opt to go bowling or something more useful.