I just read a fascinating 1st hand account of a drug transaction that took place in a time and place nearly identical to one i know of with entirely different results. To distinguish between the two, we’ll call them D1 and D2. D1 is the account that i just read which is plausible in every way. I know the terrain, the landmarks and the types of characters involved and can fully understand why it was called off - D2 is more personal and involves hubris, ignorance, greed and betrayal; more like a cluster-fuck than a business deal. Sitting here just now preparing to relive the event i realize just how lucky i was to get taken for a ride at an early age rather than spend many years believing i am smarter than i actually am - so rather than tread water in some godforsaken memory · what useful personal experience can i plumb for the general benefit of you the reader¿ To begin with, am i abandoning the comparison of two correlates from envy? Do i secretly wish i possessed the acumen of D1 and rue my dealing debacle and rather than own that envy, slough it off like existential dead skin with sanctimony and high-handedness · that’s a fair question if i am to ask you the reader to use the lens of literature as a means to access the darker recesses of the human soul before it is entirely extinguished.
I feel better already - so fuck you · I watched the backside of woman wash vegetables today who had blown me off like so much dead skin. She is shapely and to ignore the view i was given in our short chat would demean the pleasure of a woman’s body - a pleasure that has animated a huge portion of my life · thank you dear, whether you were aware and just teasing me, as all beautiful women seem to do, or you were entirely oblivious to the pleasure you gave me watching your hips undulate in your brief (& i hate to say it only for the discomfort i know that cloth brings me) polyester garment. When i began this essay, i could barely see for the oppression breath in a tropical climate seems to do to my being. Normally i am in the bathtub soaking in cold water before noon, but today due to obligations - real and imagined i was out peddling in the lethal part of the day - and just to show you how fucking stupid that is, i left my hat sitting by my chair after a heavenly mango smoothie laced with rum, only to realize in the healthier part of the morning i clean forgot the hibiscus when i bought my eucalyptus and peppermint essential oils to fuck with the dust mites and the rats.
Sometimes it frightens me to realize what a diabolical asshole i can be - when i choose. But fun is simply the wiser strategy - bar none · Because of the kindness of a providence that could arrange a mango smoothie laced with rum seems to expand to temporary custody of a misshapen
chapeau important to no one but me and any yutz that might covet such a loss. Upon my return to sanctuary, never mind how temporary - i could barely walk, much less think, or think about writing, yet here we are. My vittles are courtesy of the same establishment i abandoned the cover to my addled pate; my backup jug of water is in place and my miraculous farmer neighbors are in custody of a gift of seeds from the same kindly spirit that would laugh at my interest while in the next breath undulate her comely shape at me (in my secret life) while we spoke of nothing in particular - tell me life is not fucking amazing. I smoked entirely too much today, but know where i can find hibiscus to add to my DIY expectorant that seems to help me through most inflammation.
I discovered i have not acclimated to ambient temperature for sleep, and so when it turned hot if found myself attending old wounds - laugh if you must. Almost a year ago i had a near death experience in what i had understood up until that point a placid South China Sea. My daily excursions into the mother salt water was accompanied by change of season waves that drove me under and onto the shore like the particle of sand i am. At age 10 or so, a tossed firecracker ruptured my right eardrum, and moisture and hearing seemed henceforth rended one from the other. It has taken almost a year to evacuate the sea water from my canal which was exacerbated the moment i resorted to A/C to sleep. Go the fuck ahead and tell me “everything is not connected” and i will wait until your back is turned and i am alone with my thoughts to laugh, mirthlessly perhaps, but laugh nonetheless at your . .. ··· ________ fill in the blank.
I had a heartening conversation with a brave spirit this morning - the same kind spirit i forgot to buy hibiscus from, but also somehow managed to remind her of some neglected strategy - go ahead, tell me again how as Master Leonardo Da Vinci said “everything is connected” is some snarky bullshit expression designed by the communists to deprive you of your liberty, and again in the privacy of my own thoughts i will turn my back to you and either pray for your soul or regal in your monumental hubris - likely depending on the time of day, ambient temperature and exactly how much hind-tit i had to suck on to get where i was going. Some days it’s easier to get places than others. What is harder is to stay focused on the more meaningful tasks - “how can i help you to get better at helping others?” I don’t know and as i lean back in my chair, i feel the sweltering heat laugh at my solitude, and i wonder all the more¿ who is here to rescue me, if i am not here to rescue you?
jts 22/05/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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