I shall now name you Sweeping Bird and send you up and down the spiritual staircase; prepare to be eaten...
Radio Jupiter here; is there anyone awake at this time of night?
I’m here, said the little voice of sorrow.
Hey, how’re you doing?
Well, so-so, you know.
That’s great. Are you listening to any cool music right now?
Got some Jimi Hendrix on: pali gap, you know?
I like that one, and play it a lot.
Sure, every chance I get.
I think the bed is stirring.
In what way may I ask?
In any way at all: to say that I’m not dead yet; and neither are you.
There’s nice then.
It better be.
And then from some kind of insouciance I began growing my face and found that there were old poems hiding beneath the bed where the bereft go to hole-up until the storm blows over and winking away for all they are worth; so as I poked my head in and saw them I just had to wonder: were they winking at me?
I’m only a dreamer until I dream no more, I thought, and began banging on the walls to be let out.
A huge door that led to the cellar creakily opened and darkness oozed out of the aperture to wander towards me so that I gave up on the winking and trying to get out of it, and focused just upon what was in front of me.
As it grew before my face I saw that it pulled a bathtub behind it that slid along the floor and sloshed water around like an old galley ship in the storm.
50 dervishes later as the mind flows I came to my senses and decided to flee and leave the poets to their poems and their doom, for I wanted nothing to do with it; and to hell with the bed too, I’m going out for a beer.
Long before the darkest hour I was in the mood for love and giving it all I had as I walked along the pavement trying to enact what I wanted up out of the ground where nothing grew but heartache and grief.
2 dogs barked at me as they came past my right side so close I could scream, but didn’t quite and so I was past.
Later in the city I heard music coming from my heart until I just had to empty my face into the wind and blow away somewhere else for a while until I was ready to go back to it and fight some more.
Somewhere along this road I came across my face buried in the dust of where I’d been. So I picked it up and carried on with it trying to adjust it to where I was going.
The ground was shaky as I rattled along trying to remove my false face from my being.
And then, an old poem came to mind about some darkness somewhere that was waiting for me to undress and get into bed; so I held up my rosary beads to the light and prayed to god to get me out of here, or let me go to sleep a hero.
The next day the doctor gave me some cream to rub in and said: come back again sometime.
I left the surgery trying not to dance too much until I got around the corner where I could let off a sigh of relief and walk home knowing that I still wasn’t dead.
I was thinking this was important as I ambled along, and forgot it as I fell over the edge where my face was growing so huge it couldn’t tell the time anymore.
Knowing I had to start thinking big soon or fade away I came up with another poem that made my face grow big; so I stamped it with the mark of approval and let my song go where it would.
Well, I guess it goes like this: How did you get on in your hiding I asked of the saints hiding in their poems?
I guess I will never be able to outstare them I thought as they looked back at me in their many ways; so I looked down to where my feet were and said: what a long way it is down there so far below here.
My feet sent up a marching band that played hallelujah to me all night long.
I clapped most heartedly to this and felt delighted and so sent out for chicken on the bone, but corrected myself just in time to say: make that a vegetable burger and hold everything else.
And then I called out in my dreaming and woke up all the sheep outside my window that were slumbering there. Go off and do something I said to them then as I stuck my head out of the bedroom window and glared around at them.
They paid me no notice, so I went to make a cup of tea in the kitchen and asked myself: did that really happen?
No answer came to mind as I poured the hot water into the cup with tea leaves waiting at the bottom of it. It was too hot of course as I burnt my lips trying to drink it.
It was still too dark countless eons later, and I’d missed all my piano lessons so I couldn’t play a thing, and now had to walk home in the dark, so I lit a candle to show me the way, and lo and behold there was the door down to the cellar in front of me and calling me down into it; well, I can tell you it was a relief. Boldly I set out to go down into the deeps with my candle held up high and forgot all about the wine in my hand that I took for self defence in case I found something there I didn’t believe in.
I descended step by step and held the candle up even higher until my arm was stretched out full and my bum was sticking out just right, so I did a little wiggle just like a pop star, and carried on.
I realised that my music was still plugged in and waiting for me with a kiss over in the next town where I should have been an hour ago; but hey, take things as they come, right.
It was after 3 when I got there into that dungeon, and the lights were off. There was nothing there for me to see so I turned away to go but took one last look behind to see if there were any demons or anything following me. I did this all night long until the sun came up, and then I went home.
But you know what the saddest thing is don’t you, don’t you? Well let me tell you: the saddest thing is not saying what you love.
No, it is the child of love lying on the ground and dead underfoot you might reply back to argue.
No, that is not the saddest thing; the saddest thing is to never be able to be with your love ever again, said the crying saint in another of his poems.
I think that would make me cry very deeply.
Yes, it will make you cry, and proves that you have a heart that aches for love.
I am deeply grateful for your wisdom, but now I must cry myself to sleep.
That’s all right, I’ll be right here when you wake up.
“It has been said, that I have heard, that it is darkest just a while before the light comes to wake you up,” said Dylan from yet another neon dive song driving past my door.
I began thinking twice as fast as anything then and broke the sound barrier with a fart. I need more fruit I said, and no more spiders that don’t speak English.
As I was escorted through the building on the way out to be thrown into the street as some kind of malcontent I thought: maybe all is not lost, at least I got to see somewhere I didn’t want to be.
When the sunlight came for me the next morning I tried to hide my sight under the blankets and prayed for a rainy day.
Sometimes the trees have no names, so that when you go looking for them they can’t be found. This is not to say that love can’t find you; it is just you that has become lost, and won’t be found.
In these arms of the stranger, who do you turn to that can save you?
Dracula calling: there’s a sale on down at our give-away that don’t cost too much, bring your kids, and your credit card.
I strummed my guitar and sang a song and played into the wind all I was, and was greeted with many poems from the saints that made me yearn, for what they couldn’t tell me, no matter how many poems they wrote.
I’m on your trail, I shouted, and then took a detour for a cup of coffee to wait for the next bus back to anywhere I’d been before to see if I’d missed something, maybe some scent that’d been down-wind at the time.
We may shout this to the wind for a while about what we want, but eventually we’ll have to get on that bus and depart with whatever face we are wearing at the time.
And then it was coffee time for crawlers where the constant appendages of the deep norm state come upon us flying flags to suggest some kind of reality only they experience.
This of course will pass, but not first without taking prisoners to their suggestions where the lost are fooled once again into believing and too where their dreaming is a veil to take them away.
Such fertile minds to be loaded up and carried off into the torments, said the wind, drawing a mystical spiral in the sand.
A tip of the value adjustment that was coming through, replaced common sense with another law that grew beyond all means until too many were screaming out of their windows: this is wrong.
A snake crawling through the dust came upon these words
And gave them a taste to see what they were about.
A dance started up over in the bushes
And anyone spare ran towards it.
I had many stains on my nightshirt
And declined to run/comment
As the machines screamed across the sky…
I don’t care, said the dog, I want my dinner now.
I growled and went to make the dog’s dinner, thinking:
No one knows where they’re bound
But we’ll all get there someday.
This is when an instruction manual
Fell out of the sky with a grin, and landed at my feet.
Pick me up, it said.
As I bent down to do just that
I saw an apple fall from out of the tree
With a message written on it that said:
Don’t do that.
I pulled back and forgot everything I’d ever known
And became quite confused…
Was I chasing dreams again, or was I sane?
I thought about this, where the angels sing out of tune and turned on the high wire without a worry in the world. And as I thought, I drank more of the heavenly wine, until I was quite sober in my ministrations to the blind, no matter who they were.
Huh, said the blind.
Some cursed me of course, and so I had to let them ones go by until they were lost.
Some had money worries and sought the cure anywhere they could look. I looked indifferent until they’d gone away.
And some came to rain love on me for a moment; these ones I will bless with all my heart and wish them well, wherever they are.
It was here that I looked around and saw I was alone
So I glanced at the stars to see how they were
And found that I couldn’t count them
So I made a guess, and shouted out:
Crickets on a hillside…
Nope, said a man carrying an extremely rare book under his arm.
What have you there, I asked, wondering how many pages it had.
Want to see something amazing?
Yeah, I do.
Then come with me when the next moon shines full.
Sure I will I said and wrote a note to myself: beware the next full moon.
From nowhere, a worm squeezed out of the ground and flew upwards, kind of dancing, and even seemed to be singing to itself as it flew by me. I wished it well in its journey, and then got on with mine.
The balance of this was given over to the coffee-time crawlers who had nothing to lose but the sky and no moments left to jump into it.
In that case, they said, we shall now enter the depths of another perception where the will is the way and the morning is a long way off; and as we progress we find we are no further on than we were when we began when we first dived off into life.
Huh, what’s that you say?
Ah, an admirer I see.
So what’s that to you?
I want to see what you can say about the depths and if you really have any perception at all beyond what is buoying you up right at this moment.
You are beyond me by far dear sir, and so, on this the first of May, I propose a truce to go between us until further notice.
Whatever you say buddy it’s alright with me.
I bet it is, in you the high place that’s so exhausting to look up at.
It’s just your perception of the life you’ve invited to come at you to be cured, said the ever-ready belief to be upheld just then.
A lamp-post leaning over about 45 degrees was just above head height and so went unnoticed mostly in the next ten minutes that came along to sing songs.
The mushroom man didn’t care about this in his field as he crawled along to his doom that he couldn’t see approaching.
This was news for but a moment in the momentum thing that was forever forging into the future and never looking back and carried on into the next minute to appear into this that was appearing here.
Doom, doom I said, to the doomsday street, but I found that whenever I looked at the machines I found they were making me think the way they were coming at me.
Madness, was the only word that came to mind about that, until the porridge came to slow me down a bit.
As I spooned every spoonful down into my belly like a good one at the fair I came across a sign that was sighing.
I looked up to see if my bus was coming, but couldn’t see it anywhere, so I went back to what I was doing.
The sign carried on sighing until I just had to ask: what are you sighing about?
We have come so far in these thinking machines, but now it is the time to stop, and look around, to see where we are.
A couple of gurus later the alarm clock went off and said I had to wake up now or all would be lost.
I took the next turn and found myself still under the machines. So I packed my bags and went looking for a cave to be in where I could be alone to think.
Image from Pixabay