Windows

The three of them sat in the study, surrounded by all the books and tomes of the past centuries of humanity, all the great works of science and philosophy and literature, and they all knew that within all of this collective knowledge was contained the truth to it allĀ  like breadcrumbs throughout all their pages and words.

“…I mean IT ALL is just as it sounds.”

“So it’s nothing?”

“NO, its literally all the stuff and things.”

“But anything you say that refers to IT ALL as the subject is not saying anything.”

“Not at all, for example if I say Its ALL a mystery, that we can’t know for sure of anything, it means what it says.”

“Look I’m not getting into THIS debate again with you.”

“Okay, but we can both agree that there is a phenomena occurring in which we (at the very least) perceive our own existence.”

“Sure.”

“Well in this context, the only thing that matters is perception of things. Our perception of things creates meaning.”

“yeah.”

“But then we have to wonder, from where do we perceive things happening? We cannot stop thoughts that arise from within us, and we can’t control what goes on outside of us, so there must be this place from which we see both sides.”

“Momma Catz didn’t say weather the windows would be in your head or in the wall.”

“So are you gonna look out or within?”

“That’s the trouble with it. You cant ever stand still long enough to get a good look one way or another. It’s not that I think Momma Catz isn’t full of it, I just think you can’t make it happen unless the windows are clean, and both windows just pile up with mud from all kinds of places.”

“I hear ya.”

“I mean, I get out there with the cleaner and the paper towel, if you get what I mean, but it never seems like the rain stops long enough, or the cars don’t stop going by for long enough to do it. The maintenance of it is just too painful, too fruitless to try.”

“But I mean, you’ve got to.”

Then Leon spoke up. “Who is this Momma Catz anyway?”

“You’d know her if you saw her.”

“yeah, hard to miss, she was at Bobby’s wedding last tuesday.”

“Oh. I think I know who you mean…” He didn’t.

“Anyway, why do windows need to be the thing to worry about. If you’re looking out or in, you gotta be in a room to begin with. Why not just keep that space tidy enough, then what goes on outside won’t matter so much.”

“Idk, then I feel like I’m missing out on stuff. I get anxious if I never see what the world is doing.”

“Some people are like that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know who or what I am. I can’t find the words that make me feel comfortable with myself. Like I need a label, but they all don’t fit. If I just knew who I was supposed to be I’d get down to business and be who I was meant to be.”

Leon spoke up again. “But aren’t you already who you are?”

“No Leon, that’s not at all what I mean.”

“Yeah Leon, like are you looking out of the window or into the window, do you want a tidy room or a tidy yard, or are you just a mess all over?”

Leon had to think for a bit about that and ultimately would come to no conclusions. The other two continued their conversation.

“It really seems like Momma Catz knows it all though, like windows and maintenance and all that, where are we looking and who are we, these are the questions we need to always ask ourselves so that we can KNOW with all certainty what we should be doing with it all.”

“I mean you ask yourself who you are to spite those others who put you in a box.”

“I guess. You could do that.”

Then Leon spoke again. “I’m not really sure what game we are playing.”

“It’s the secret dude! It’s these questions of philosophy and science that will explain everything you need to know, to transcend what everyone else THINKS is important. You will become closer to a GOD if you know all this stuff.”

“Windows and Momma Catz and spite and where we are?” Said Leon.

“Exactly.”

“You just don’t get it Leon.”

“I guess not.”

Leon stood up and walked out of the room. He was not a god. He was not looking through any windows. He stepped out of the musty house and walked into the light rain that fell from the dark sky. He felt the cold, and it did not bother him, for cold and warm are only things that countless generations of humanity endured without perishing. In the water there were no words, and his mind was still for every cell and environment of his being wholly existed as Leon in the rain without needing to know any more than where he was and who he was. The great questions continuing in the room, the school and philosophy of whomever momma catz was continued spiraling into disillusion and malaize and ‘ennui.

The cold rain was conquered by Leon for the time-being and his clothes became wet, but they were only clothes. They would become dry and he had no important place to be.

In Leon’s mind there was only whether one would rather spend their life trying to grasp the ineffable, or feel the goodness of existing beyond petty discomfort.

One who never knew the sensation of giving in to the greater and being a part of it, would never know the truth of it all. It is a truth with many names and words and writings that span the centuries of human existence. But only those with the luxury to wonder will wonder and those who can be content with not knowing, or simply knowing enough, would come to find it.

Thoughts do not exist, only actions exist, only sensations exist, only reality exists, and it is as definable as the great being of things, of that which exists simply IS and what does not exist IS not.

Every gap is filled with a being, anything that can find a place will find it and go to it, for the great interlocking and meshing of cells and forms and plants and animals, can only work on what IS there. The chemicals and gasses and electrons of all matter contained form and build where it is possible. If it did not they would not be.

So Leon, not realizing this in so many words, simply didn’t worry about it, because he stood on solid ground, the ground under his feet. He felt the air contained within the world that he was made for. And he was glad that he could be happy just knowing what he knew without explaining it.

 

 

 

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Endless Rain

I hope it rains forever,

So the same places don’t feel the same,

So I don’t need to feel too alive,

So the same people won’t speak,

So it’s as if the world’s already died.

I Hope it Rains forever,

and clouds block away the sun,

and droplets form on the ceiling,

and make the weak ones run.

I Hope it rains forever,

and starts drowning all the cars

with lightning and sparks,

I Hope it rains forever,

That one could rest their mind,

and thoughts patter on the asphalt

and run off through the gutters and storm drains and pipes,

far far away,

staining the oceans blood red and orange

trailing off into time.

Forever.

 

Lovers in Space.

The farther you pull back,

The less it all seems to mean,

But looking in on a moment,

Bears all the significance.

 

The lights of a moving carousel,

the smell of pine and fried dough,

Smiles that wont go away,

Standing on the grassy dew covered hill and looking up at the fabric above,’

and wondering.

And not having to wonder alone.

 

Sky rocketing through the clouds and weaving among comets towards the vast uncertainty of the big ocean of reality,

Peering out from the cramped cockpit at a flinging tendril of star energy,

Not minding the close spaces or the empty floating candy wrappers in the cabin,

Or the crumbs, or the love.

There are filters after all.

 

Walking across alien landscapes and marveling together at odd temples covered with blue lichen,

Reaching for each other under a green sky,

and being human in a strange, futuristic land,

on another planet,

in the emptiness of all space,

two specks in the multitudes,

Knowing that when you pull away it all seems like nothing,

But here and now,

Is all that is.

all that is needed.

My best gal.

“The wine is quite good.”

“pardon me?”

“I say- I say the wine is quite good.”

“Oh you think so?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Well it’s always good to hear that a man’s wine is appreciated after all the time and effort taken to pick the dandelions off the side of the highway.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah, it’s dandelion wine.”

“Really? i didn’t know you could make wine from dandelions.”

“Oh absolutely, Ive been making it since I was 10.”

“that is something.”

“Yep- And I haven’t been sober since.”

The man let out a horse laugh and the scent of fermenting liver and pipe weed emerged forth and entered sharply into the taster’s nose.

“I say, the aroma of your dying innards pares well with the wine.”

“Oh thank you sir, I really do try to maintain my demise as vigorously as my wines.”

“So do you only make dandelion wine?”

“Huh?”

“I say do you only make dandelion wine?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Well…alright that should do for the sacrament anyway.”

“Always a pleasure to aid the clergy”

The year was 1930 and vaudeville was all the rage, the Sachemo kid and Kimmy Rats Bottoms toured the world-round performing their famous dandelion-wine-clergy skit. Tragically they died in an accident when 150 bullets riddled their car from the precision rifles of the G-men on the trail of Bonny and Clyde. Our fearless G-Men got them in the end though and just goes to show that there is no cost too great for our feds to stop the outlaw and the spread of communism.

 

 

Memories

From my childhood, I recall a few images that remain vividly imprinted in my mind. Despite the years and experiences gone by and the desire to become a self-sufficient human person being grown up thing, these moments remain forever embedded in my memory.

Snoopy and Charlie Brown were talking on the TV upstairs. I ran at full speed. Snoopy and Charlie Brown were also talking on the TV downstairs.

I was driven by exploratory desire. The trunk door of my Mom’s Saab ’93 was heavier than I expected. Trunks are dark.

I yelled Bam! each time I threw a toy into my basket, all except for the last time, when I yelled DAMN! I turned to my mother who was nearby and apologized, but she only looked up and said “What for?” I mumbled “Nothing” and silently continued, contemplating if only I was aware of my own experiences in life.

 

 

Prompt Source:

Prompt 872

Simple or Brilliant?

As he turned, unsure of weather he had leave to go, he blurted out to the only one who could hear him.

“I am the undevoted man of the unseen, half a being, dipped in Chrome and part of the machine. Wisdom leaves a tarnish, but I like the way it mutes the sun. I’m the man of light and chief of all undone. You cannot stop my march as I bumble past your life. I am not solid enough to hold, but I can still cut you like a knife. I am master of the inbetweeness and I shout “balance” in my mirror, come away or stay with me, I cant tell if I want you nearer.”

He said and then left.

The wise woman would say about men like him:

“Tread carful when you see this creature mired in his swamp. He is a storm of high mind and base desire moving towards impossible dreams and unheard of wants. Truths and lies boil in the same bubbles and so rapid do they rise, not even he knows which are his troubles. Tread carful.”

Spark

A shock wave runs through the system.

Time is fast approaching,

bring us to the event horizon

of all things great and terrible.

I was sleeping in my bed

I was covered and warm

I was pushing away my life

and now I am alive.

Should not have

hit

snooze

Unbridled

Where does the wind go?

Where does the time go?

When will the sun stay,

always in the sky?

I feel that there’s a rhythm,

and the song will never end,

but I know that there’s an ending

I just don’t know when.

I hope that one day then,

when it all comes crashing down,

I can see the lands where all that time had gone to,

and where the winds are all around,

where the sun shines every morning,

and a song.

If there should be a higher dimension to go to,

and more dimensions below,

am I still in the beginning,

or am I near their height?

I must be somewhere in the middle.

Living out this strange life.

 

 

Stuck

With a sigh she opened the screen and the lights dazzled across her face. Entering through the pathway into another world. A place of magic or intensity, life, and drama. Not like reality. Somehow reality was less vibrant. Looking around all of the surfaces and corners of her apartment, the usual tree outside by the stoop where she would suck down a cigarette to bookend experiences. None of it penetrated her. Other people were flat unchanging beings except by location. Somehow all of her friends just felt like a far away collection of vague faces in the haze of a humming backdrop to it all.

So she spent her time watching videos, collecting more and more information from the little box who she began to think of as more of a friend. Her and her computer. “Hey that could be a show!” she’d think, nothing about a computer and a girl as romping friends could be bad. They could talk about memes together and joke about how in those fleeting moments where the girl was an artist, that her self–confidence was a wreck and she was better off just getting back on youtube or whatever.

The thought circled around and she almost got up to write it down but then she really wanted to see how the finale would end. The memory of the her and her computer friend faded until it was unreal, faded into the humming blur where all her friends lived along with the collection of a million other possible experiences. Hours between walls and watching the glowing rectangle. As sleep gnawed at her eyes and she could feel herself wasting away. Still she managed to raise a finger and tap for one more hit.

Death would dawn on her as season six was in its climax. “I only get one life.” the thought said to her. But it seemed so wrong. How could she only get one life when she had experienced so many lives. Even history in grade school covered a vast swathe of lives. Literature, movies, comics, all worlds to enter, to jump into. ONE life? that’s absurd.

But the pang of mortality would return as she watched the screen unblinking. “This is it, I’m using this time right now.” she shook her head and went back to the world, hoping, wishing that the lights could just make her forget who she was, what she was, and what she knew. she wanted to fade into this make believe world that some caffeinated room of writers had made piecemeal for some executive who cut half of it out and sent it off to a social coordinator to get “sharability” or whatever the FUCK they call it.

She was scared. And fear drove her to seek to forget as a matter of course. Why confront a fear you can do nothing about? How do you stop the time from slipping away? How do you keep from dying? You act like you want it. You become lethargic.

It was always amazing how hours could tick by. re-runs, re-watching, re blogging, re-entering the world of these people who had so much more beyond the surface level. She smiled at the jokes, wrapped herself in comfort, while the endless cavalcade of stimulus lulled her further and further away from herself.

She watched and she forgot to live until all the world felt like one great watching.

It was all one big show and everyone was always on it.

but it was real.

and

It’s over now, go click on something else.

Edge

I feel like a shark with a hook in its mouth.

Torpedo fast predator,

razor blades for teeth.

Stuck with this metal thorn,

a splinter tied with coils of cord that run deep and seamless

into the cartilage.

With no way to get it out,

I can only hope it shakes off

before it grows deeper inside

forever.

And I wonder if I would be better or worse off.