Dream about renting out rooms in my mansion. I am, and the lights are on. Consciousness, that’s all. Nothing more to it. No goo-ruuu nonsense petals emphatically pronouncing the flower. Awake, aware of appearance. There’s predictability and pattern to what appears, but that’s just the bumpers, the rails, the rules of this particular groundhog game. …
When you paddle into a big wave, you’re committed. When you enter into the asylum, you’re committed. The physical push yields a return of energy from ocean to body, from sea to feet. The mental push yields a return of dissociation to association, from entropy to order, from freedom to imprisoned, from individual to group. …
Oil on concrete. Water on the oil. Color on the ground. By what brighter star might you navigate? You want your self to understand. Who is you? By what brighter star might you navigate? A song lyric that reads your mind. By what brighter star might you navigate? The striped rungs on a palm tree. …
The color yellow says something bright. Something so different than the others. The sky behind comes through thick tropical clouds. A dawn noticed. One day’s version of itself again. A blue fungus dusts the tops of the rail ties, and water pushes the entire world around, like a soft but bossy conductor. The dog fusses …
It’s 14 years from now and the dog died today, or was it yesterday? The stunning thing is how absolutely none of this matters. The biggest effect on my person seems to be a view of evergreens, fennel plants and a scaled sky with white accents. What I do is really just a bird’s chirp …
