Where to begin?
Or should I even try?
I have opened the hand with which I thought I had a grip.
Yesterday’s surest ideas are today’s biggest questions.
I should feel freer but I just feel loster.
I guess we’re all crazy compared to a norm.
The craziest thing is to imagine a norm.
Or maybe it’s trying to be mistaken for it.
Or even wanting to be.
My coffee cup from Robert Anton Wilson reads,
“Committee for the Surrealist Investigation of Claims of the Normal”
Institutions love normal.
They stuff all the “born equals” into them.
They know we’re all born uniqual.
They’ll be equal when we get done with ‘em.
It’s easier than thinking.
Classes make classes of normal.
Miss X’s 3rd graders compete against Mr. Y’s.
Who can regurgitate the national fantasy verbatim.
Elite. Richest normal
The Masses. Paying the Elite to carry the flag.
The standard of living to which all aspire.
Carrot on a stick in the hands of the man.
Our masses do it better than your masses.
So move aside.
Perversion of maturation.
Maturation is ripening with age.
Ripe is Enlightenment.
Enlightenment is beholding the universe within.
Competition is settling for better than your friends and enemies.
And envious hatred of the besters.
It’s the normal life.
It’s the rotting before ripening
It is the prison without bars.
It’s the motel room on the lonely, crowded hiway of life.
Safe, comfortable, swimming pool, air conditioning, color TV.
Vedge out and watch others compete for a while.
Ooooh, a war.
Two classes of kindergarten semites.
It’s the skins against the chosen.
Who to root for, where’s the beer?
Outside the hiway goes on.
Much less traffic past the motel.
just a country road now
No one in cars.
Left ‘em all back at the motel.
Traveling light is delightful in itself.
Cell phone call from someone watching the war back at the motel.
Ditch the cell phone too.
More smiling faces further along the path
Lots of knowing nodding.
The awareness is contagious.
A resonance so pure all feel it within.
That potato of which we are all eyes.
The ones still closed leave dead spots in field.
A reminder of who they left behind.
Their friends and family still back at the motel.
What about them?
Go back and prod ‘em in their pudgy places?
Live amongst them as a happy example of another way?
Show them the malicious agenda of the motel owner?
Show them that their willingness to pay rent is their prison?
Show them they don’t have to kill the tenants across the hiway?
They don’t hate you.
You don’t exist if you’re not on TV
It’s the competition of the motel owners.
Hand ‘em dueling pistols and hear the bravado stifle.
Get ‘em from behind the flag and watch their bravery shrivel.
Make hubris eat humility and taste crow.
Lead a rebellion?
Empty the rooms and storm the office?
The ranks full of followers just wanting a new landlord?
Empty the rooms and camp in the desert in tribes?
Watch the vampires die without victims?
Or do nothing, its none of my business?
It’s not that bad in the bubble.
Life is a loan one can never repay.
What it buys consumes all ones interest.
If it doesn’t cost enough it must not be worth it.
What a lovely collection of atrocities, did we pay for that?
How can that comedian get away with those jokes?
Oh, yeah we’re a free country, I forgot.
He’s too famous to off anyway.
The government shouldn’t trust us with its secrets.
Look at what they’ve found we do in private!
That guy is ugly, besides he looks suspicious.
He should be reported.
For God and country, for God and country, for…
Friday, September 22, 2006
MY QUARRY IS A QUANDARY IN AN ABANDONED QUARRY
Where to begin?