new circles

 

Warning - This piece is a load of self-indulgent hooey interspersed with big words, getting older y'see

Always after meditation, the first thing I want to do is write. I get ideas, I connect with my animal inside. And it is usually chatty, if a little unpredictable and a lot uncivilized. So it scratches itself reflectively and says to me

I dislike profound art, gut-wrenching accounts of stark humanity. And no, it wasn't, as I had feared, a fear of stark humanity

I blink, it continues, biting off the head of a passerby

No, great art time and again reveals a certain shallowness of the darting human mind, and reveals my fear of how ephemeral our decisions are, and how capricious our decision making process is,

It swallows with a wide gulp and burps, I listen

As Bob Dylan sang, the answer my friend, is blowing in the wind. Makes me ridiculously afraid of asking any question at all. So in my typical retardation, I oppose ephemeral decision making with perpetual uncertainty, back and forth and back and forth, back and forth, until either bores me cynical

It rocks on its heels, almost falling forward at oncoming traffic, I steady it

But that isn't the end of it. The lil decisions inside our lil minds made with our fantastic reasonings, they get ... reused

My animal slurps up a big ball of cud and starts chewing, I look away

The umbrella for instance, for the head, for the skin, for the clothes, for the dog, for the guitar, for the twirling ballet dancer, for the rain, for a precaution, for a picture, for forgetting in buses and shops, for a dash of color, for folding, for unfurling, for shading a stolen kiss, for drying, and wetting, and drying again, for moving droplets of water around ...

It spaces out, I start moving