Human passions have mysterious ways, in children as well as grown-ups. Those affected by them can’t explain them, and those who haven’t known them have no understanding of them at all. Some people risk their lives to conquer a mountain peak. No one, not even they themselves, can really explain why. Others ruin themselves trying to win the heart of a certain person who wants nothing to do with them. Still others are destroyed by their devotion to the pleasures of the table. Some are so bent on winning a game of chance that they lose everything they own, and some sacrifice everything for a dream that can never come true. Some think their only hope of happiness lies in being somewhere else, and spend their whole lives traveling from place to place. And some find no rest until they are powerful. In short, there are as many different passions as there are people.
A mad galaxy stretching and kicking above the roof of the sleeping stone cold family. The oldest son still awake playing marionette to the dreamer in the sky. Laying sideways in his bed a waterfall pours out of his chest onto a notebook. He must remember this
I can only describe it as a rainbow mist, not quite a solid not quite a liquid not quite a gas. Surrounding and flowing through everything sticking to our glassy mind bulb surface like fog to a mirror, forming little multicolored condensation ornaments. The beauty of the horizon is the change we meet on its infinite approach. A journey is none other than a molding and reshaping of our awareness and perception.
I’ve got to find which parts of you I’ve polished enough for me to see my reflection in. I want to connect with you on what the heaviness of artificial sunlight feels like. I want to flatter the ensemble of your emotion orchestra. Unconscious maestro, creator of epic unintentional symphonies. I want you to see everything as a transparent liquid. So I’ll begin by using my words:
Its pretty cold out here tonight. Its pretty late. I sit slouched in a lawn chair by the pool. The water is black because the light is out. There are neon lights reflected on the water, where are they coming from? All I see are these reflections. It has been raining on and off the pat couple of hours. There are water droplets stuck to the grass. Tonight they look like glass globes, also black because the moon isn’t even out tonight and the streetlight is out. The only light source that is illuminating anything are the neon squiggles reflected on the pool and the grass. I can hear crickets. The licorice I am eating has gotten to the point where it all tastes the same. The vines on the fence have grown ever since I began living here. It still smells like rain every day I wake up.
The porch light will turn on every so often, there is a three second pause and then the door slides open with a crunching sound. They are checking on me. They can’t quite figure out why I have been sitting outside in the rain the past few hours. It’s not really raining its more sprinkling. I’m not doing anything wrong out here except maybe enjoying it too much. Watching the neon fractals, like galaxies on clear blankets, resting on the blades by the wet rocks.
They check on me because they want to make sure I am okay. They don’t think I am normal. Its because nobody does this anymore, people don’t sit and let things be anymore. They know what things mean but they don’t understand the essence of things. Sit still and the beauty of life slowly creeps towards you, increasing its speed every second until it is blasting in your face. that’s when you realize that you are no different than the small trickle of half frozen water on the other side of the house.
I saw new glittering red and blue lights in the drops. Tiny pinpoints, dazzling! I heard the most beautiful noise then, it took me a few seconds of basking in it before I realized it was a police siren. Now the dogs won’t stop barking. The birds of the night fly in maniacal circles overhead.
“Becoming what I call, for lack of a better term, an android, means, as I said, to allow oneself to become a means, or to be pounded down, manipulated, made into a means without one’s knowledge or consent— the results are the same. But you Cannot turn a human into an android if that human is going to break laws every chance he gets. Androidization requires obedience. And, most of all, predictability. It is precisely when a given person’s response to any given situation can be predicted with scientific accuracy that the gates are open for the wholesale production of the android life form.”—
Philip K. Dick (From the essay: The Android and the Human)
Cut—fall remember not to stop. Let the rain touch the hood of the car.
Under the hood
a family of small ugly looking things,
a family nonetheless.
Holding up a lantern the father watches for his delivery,
Stroking his yellow beard
while the wife and daughter melt into the background blackness.
Ghost trucks behind
old locks of
Before I ever reach the ground
I found another opening in sound.
Sound which caries my
whump whump frequencies into little
Porcelain flower things.
Your ego is your imaginary friend
Not your ultimate enemy
Have you given up wall jumping?
Crunch down on it
My face in this country
My bones in another
My wrist hung over the galaxy like a toilet bowl
The morning after drinking too much.
Lions cool while molly feeds on little white flowers
I take in another way
WAKE UP THOSE NEURAL PASSAGWAYS AGAIN
You guys are like monopoly pieces thinking it really matters if you are the dog the cannon or the shoe…
I know my ego as the parrot on my pirate shoulder
What a wet blanket it can be if you let it.
The duallyverse dualverse verse
What a funny Universe
Transverse whatever you converse about
So crunch if im wrong but….
Drinking back the breath
Don’t worry, you won’t really sweat neon colors
Here’s an abstraction:
I come to you from a place called here
Here I am
It seems I am good at selection
That is, finding what I want to find
And retrieving what I want to retrieve.
This can be all good and fun but it’s the process that should be scrutinized
Selection comes from what I FEEL
I say “ooh I like that!” I’m going to pluck it out of its natural habitat and place it under the file name PLEASANT.
The “that makes me so mad” situation becomes an UNPLEASANT file in the folder
This is the impressionistic side of the selection process. What gets impressed upon the molding clay of my ‘self.’
The expressionistic side of the selection process is the retrieval as well as the arrangement of the retrieved. So if I want to make something pleasant I know where to go if I want to make something unpleasant I know where to go.
Perception based on feeling for my reality folders.
Only filing what I feel
To later have available for retrieval
To express my reality.
Because an expression is just the reflection of an impression
She can feel the uneasiness of the world
But is out of touch with her own uneasiness
Feeling undeserving of the good feelings she gets when she helps
She feels compassion for the other
She feels the need for penance in herself
What constitutes a sin in her eyes?
Its all a clingy culture
Why do I keep seeing food and a bowl splattered on linoleum?
Was it something I did when I was little and am still thinking about
All loving orange slob burning oven too much to be on under the stove status.
Everything is eye jewelry
Walk around the city
No not just walk… more like inhale the city
I want to lay against every building every person scene and scenery
“Obviously, the faster we process information, the more rich and complex our models or glosses —our reality-tunnels — will become. Resistance to new information, however, has a strong neurological foundation in all animals, as indicated by studies of imprinting and conditioning. Most animals, including most domesticated primates (humans) show a truly staggering ability to “ignore” certain kinds of information — that which does not “fit” their imprinted / conditioned reality-tunnel. We generally call this “conservativism” or “stupidity”, but it appears in all parts of the political spectrum, and in learned societies as well as in the Ku Klux Klan.”—
Distaste in the mouth… like metal, must be rust, blood.
I chewed through my lip again, accidentally crunching the old scab. Nothing’s on the radio, might as well listen to nothing. I am much larger than the trees. The trees only come to my knees, knees being wheels of steel rubber blubber coats spinning and thinning at the same time. I’ve never driven a truck like this before, all eighteen wheels under my control, small twitch of the wrist could bring down any obstacle making my obstacle course no more than a level field. I shouldn’t have taken the pills. I thought I would be able to stay awake easier for the price of a little grinding of the teeth. This is my first time on the road with my rig, just wanted to do the job perfectly.
Now I have to pull over. No rest stop in sight, the sun is about to rise and the sky is getting lighter. The black Wyoming oceans have resumed there yellow shape and solidity, freezing back into rolling fields of grass. So dull its magnificent.
Finally, the road begins to incline a little, I realize I must be getting close to Colorado. I heard its beautiful there. My head and thoughts are rushing and I need to move my legs, I’m scared because the feeling in my stomach keeps wavering. Which may be due to the loneliness I have been feeling off and on since I was forty miles into the least populated state of the country. Why? I would wonder, staring at the horizon as the sharp silver moonlight dissolved in the wet sun morning. Why of all places is Wyoming the least popular? This only made the feeling worse, as if there was something I didn’t know about hiding in the enormous amount of empty space around me. It didn’t matter that I was inside such a titanic creature. The space erased all comparison of objects, and all things became simply microscopic in these fields.
I have to stop. I need to walk around a little, I need to get some air.
I pulled over to nowhere in particular and silenced the grumbling giant. When I opened the door, it took a moment for me to realize that I had these two pathetic dangly legs to balance on, so I fell a little when I jumped off the step.
Its so quiet out here, So still. My skin feels dead because it had adapted to the vibrations in the truck, registering that as still, this is a level beyond stillness. It is said that when a person is deprived of one of their senses, the others become stronger. My hearing and sensation on the skin, non existent at that moment, gave birth to a vibrant sense of smell and lucid vision instantly to my face. Enjoying these new senses I paced around in the grass for a few minutes. The blood in my mouth became a little more bitter.
I sat flat on the road facing the rig. I had never done anything like this before, it was a test of my bravery, because staring at this monster gave me such a feeling that a fear of the truck began to blend with the loneliness of this place.
I couldn’t help staring at the lidded eyes of the massive skeleton. Bearing its wicked rotten teeth, a smile of complete pride, bragging that it was the most dense object in this universe of sky and field.
I haven’t slept in three days. Here I see the sun wake up for the third time, just in time to illuminate the colossal robotic mass. It is too much. I need to fix this. I run as far as I can but the smaler the truck gets the lonelier I feel.
I decide its time to get back inside and become this thing in order to feel better. When I got back in the truck I had a hard time focusing because I was in such a confined space. I felt like I was unable to hatch out of an egg. After I started driving I felt a little better. I started singing “I got space… you got space… everybody’s got space…” an hour must have gone by when I looked down at my fuel gauge and realized that it had barely moved at all since I had gotten back in the car. After driving such a long distance already, I have been able to watch the gauge go down as the miles go on. But it was a lot higher than it should have been.
I slammed on the brake when I realized that my entire trailer was missing, skidding to a quick short stop. For a second I didn’t believe what I saw and the mirror and I sat still afraid to turn around. How could I not have noticed that my trailer was missing? I decided to go out and see if something broke in a connection somewhere.
The empty space was even bigger than it was before. The sky seemed a little higher now that the sun was climbing.
There was no damage whatsoever. It was as if the trailer had vanished into thin air. The connections weren’t even rusty. I had to clear my head so I walked a little away from the truck. I kicked some dirt which floated on the wind.
I saw the trailer-less rig against the sky and the field, I smiled. My smile grew into a laugh, it just looked so silly sitting there all alone, no body, no strength, helpless, just like me. I could not stop laughing at its awkwardness.
Suddenly the color starts to fade and the ground rushes up to meet me.