What a lucky fuck i am to have been raised by father who helped me to see words as toys for play, and a mother who taught me to feel color like sound to hear and odor to smell; though to this day, i’ll be damned if i know how that upbringing will help our species to survive¿ I do know that my father was very physical about pressing my shoulders upright, much like most chores are taught to Balinese children; in psychiatric terms i understand this manner of teaching as “modeling.” I remember one vivid morning when i had been instructed to vacuum under the younger brother and my built-in desks, though upon inspection the “The Great Santini” took my puny fist and wrapped it over the vacuum handle and forced the roaring machine into each nook and cranny of his architectural learning stations; i was humiliated, but properly instructed about the consequences of cutting corners on a sunny spring Saturday morning when the prospect of pickup baseball beckoned at Corsica Park.
This lesson certainly informs my manic preoccupation with providing 5 paragraph essays to a mythological reading public - little different than the 1,000s of his late age poems sitting on the hard drive of his one and only IBM 286 computer rotting in the mildewed crawlspace under the 2nd house of my young brother’s suburban understanding of possible meanings about our upbringing · go ahead, tell me i’m not a little bit lyrical. I’d rather you explain to me how i might be more meaningful; “live as though this is your last day, learn as though you will live forever.” — Osho, et. al. At this turn these writings are more like the original “Enterprise” limping to some way station searching for Dilithium Chrystals to reconnect Warp Drive, rather than the Impulse Power, Commander Scott has so valiantly rendered to keep you the reader online.
Last night i took another tumble; i generally will not travel on my bicycle after twilight, both for visual and substance issues. I reserve my quaffing hours for late afternoon, early evening so as to aid rest; facilitate creativity; and to lean on the delusion of connectivity that alcohol provides in its peculiar fashion. I normally feel safe from the excess; either from hubris, design or discipline, but now must be mindful that my bicycle conveyance is no longer the obedient steed of my young years when i lived on one before i could afford the luxury of motorized conceits. Fortunately my muscle tone absorbed the shock of tilting into the dirt on a tight quiet corner - it is the existential terror that pinned my eyes open from 1 am to 3 am, more so than the paltry two bottles of the so sweet rice wine of my adopted homeland.
Xmas of 2015 i spent in a hostel in Bejing as a hated Guilo - festivities included a midnight wakeup with a 1/2 dozen enthusiastic cadre cheering my sleep starved frame, “hapy, hapy, hapy.” and the lodging of 2 dozen backpackers in the room next door on the night of my departure who were hellbent on drinking China under the table. During this 14 day, not-enough exploration of momma China, i click-baited one of the emerging tellusnothing and we’lltellyoueverthing apps about my past life - it turns out i was a trader in 16th century Southeast Asia and have a trail of karma that requires attention. Here i sit in a 16th century trading village on the coast of the South China Sea 5 years later, not because i’m a sap, but because asian women are incredibly beautiful to my thinking and thought i could do justice 2-dimensional justice to that beauty prior to my sight falling fainter - too late
Now i wheeze myself awake in the morning and scrub the scum of 100 + degree humid heat from my frame searching for a loving heart who will not laugh while i close my eyes for the last time. Before that happens for reasons i seem to have no control over i feel compelled to do right dharma for generations i hope to help survive the capitalist rape of our planet - small wonder pop gave me the Don Quixote pen, and the little brother Sancho Panza. Yet in the scheme of things, the fairy threads of our skein of life, what a lucky fuck i am surrounded by buffoons trumpeting their station in life and lording their _______ fill in the blank over anyone that seems susceptible to such bullshit at a time when the oceans are boiling; ancient lethal illnesses frozen into the melting tundra are now meeting newly contrived micro organisms lacking explanation and a population withering under a temperature few are prepared to face, much less surmount for the sake of survival. And yet, we laugh, we cry, we fuck our way into an unknown future full of ______ fill in your blank.
jts 15/07/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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