It's funny how we all sit on a huge rock racing around the sun and most of us don't even know it...
On a rock sticking out of the ocean the author was on facebook again...
“We cannot bear to see you like this with your coat all the colours of doom, come back with us now and we will take you in again and scrub you up back to how you were to never die so low again,” said fb.
“Refrain, the rustic minimum of this is where I am and cannot be undone,” said the author.
“But we would save you,” said fb.
“Save yourselves, my fate is my own,” said the author.
“Oh how disappointed we are in you that you cannot allow yourself to be saved,” said fb.
“Really? Well watch this as I make fire from a stone,” said the author.
“But only the gods can make fire,” said fb.
“Then prepare to worship,” said the author making fire from a stone.
Under the illusion tree then to rise where the heroes fall to rise again to be splendid, and in that splendour seal their fate. A moment of fame can go a long way in the dust where the broken hearts wail and the lovers lie together to burn themselves on the flame of their rising.
Ghosts walk in all this, but not of their choosing for only conscious life has choice, but walk they do amongst the living as if not knowing their lives are done and their time to depart has come.
“And what is your speciality?” one will ask.
“I’m Jones the post and I deliver mail,” is the reply.
“Your death is legend,” the first will say.
“Who are you to say that?” the Jones ghost will say.
“I am the spirit of passing and I have come to take you home,” and so saying they will both fade away, and the dust will not miss their passing.
For the survivors there is coffee to lubricate the wheels to run again, and turning, turn the world. It is said that without coffee the wheels would grind, and grinding so would be as sharp teeth to drown the daily heroes under to where the ghosts can be seen, and then there would be wailing a plenty, so never forget your coffee of a morning.
And for the conservatives there is twenty parts to the million to weep over later when it is found that all is not real and that the world is but an illusion. So do make yourselves comfortable for there is much to come to amuse you all for a laugh a minute now and burn later when the wheels turn full circle and the laugh is on the other face.
In the dancing shadows the uprisings come to change the world, but they are the world and make it by their coming, and living it until they’re old the world is turned and life goes on, and all the change is but another turning in the living where life is turned.
“Come closer and let me see what is on the menu.”
“Since when did you become so refined?”
“Since the time I fell in the pit and my eyes closed around me.”
“We have a cure for that.”
Cures come in all sizes for the discerning and otherwise and are made from the ailments that ail you in your life and death destinies.
THE POWER OF SATURDAY NIGHT
“Without the power of Saturday night we’d all be lost and the boat would sink and that would be it for all of us,” said Captain Morgan Jones over the boat’s tannoy system.
He was in the control room with most of a bottle of rum sloshing around in him and a crowd of mosquitoes buzzing his head, they had been breeding in the dark corners of the boat since they’d set off from the Mekong Delta months earlier in their epic journey to find the land of the free that someone had said was south a ways and then maybe a little east or west of that after they would get there.
But of course they’d ended up in New York harbour to the surprise of all and had to change their names to fit the passports that had got mixed up with another crew’s and so after a short entry to the USA they then all sailed back to Bangkok in the hope the other crew were still there so they could reclaim their passports and change all their names back to what they should be.
And as they sailed there on the high seas Captain Morgan Jones said things over the tannoy:
“When the power of Saturday night overcomes the power of war we shall all be free, but until then we have holes to fix and pumps to pump,” said Captain Morgan Jones who then fell over dead drunk and slept away the rest of Saturday night dreaming of his lost love who was lost but had sent a message in a bottle for him to find.
SUB-ADDICTION OF MANY DOORS
“But we have said enough, so let us merge now in the sub-addiction Maya before the music stops and we have to wake up again to delve once more into that holy soul stone that hangs around our necks and keeps us under.
Last night I woke up and then woke up again allowing the universe to pour into me its essence.
I would drown in that but the more I wanted it the less it happened; and so half asleep I fell under the reaching back asleep and woke up later with the morning calling me out of bed.
Reality has many doors and each one a new experience of it,” said Captain Morgan Jones from his dreams.
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