Prose & Stream of Consciousness

Stream #2 – being a human

what is it, being human? is it sitting on the can by the side of the road because things didn’t go the way you thought? is it setting up shop on some midlife early life have-a-wife be-a-wife experience, some conflict and crisis bought, some making and unmaking of the self for others, settled down? is it being whipped enough to give in to the divine destiny of prestige and humility, of accepting the assumed nature of nonsensical patriarchal — stranger things have never been said, thought of, bled, than the experience of pioneer soldiers, strangers settling and fighting fettered and unfettered, light as feathers in a strange way, a strange place, a stray landing space. it’s man who’s on the case, who considers themselves unflustered at the dangerest responsibilities, the most bizarre and uncircumspect of askings, testing strength and reckless rage to the best of his abilities, channeling, channeling that ghost of ancient wisdom, that spirit of the Most High sky guy, skyborn son and spirit entreat with treaties replete.

repeat, Houston. Winston won’t say it — write it — play it — are you still with me? — of course you’re not, you don’t have to be — astronaut — in agony — left with thoughts — like spots of dark matter on the space vacuum — confounding scientists — who confound propounded purported philosophers — i say it — i say it to you — it’s not all it seems — no one man thinks the same, or is as they think of shame — culture shame and shock impressed on his brain and nerves from day one as if the verbs and vibe of parents arent enough to keep him up to date on speed enough bred and apart bleeding off by himself with no one to share the time ever on his own by the time they come it’s all over it’s blown — that’s the man inside the man, homunculi, the little me, big I, trying to be — i tried. i tried — i couldn’t let it be so easy, so unmemorably easy — as if to have been born in the garden of eden in heaven where a new heaven and a new earth abide in the future — im just disjointed, it just could have been that i just got stuck with the wrong karabin, the systemy is sketchy and wretched and at best it’s molested me from head to neck and neck to chest to below and the rest, below, down with the evil ones who blow, blow, blow smoke rings with their tongues — selfish ignorance pitting life against itself fateting earth into hell. ignorant, ignorant, ignorant. the world is not what it seems. it’s not even reptillian beings.

would be woes, justice to the selfish, selflessly merciless to the foes. could be, should be some certain way but we know it’s not the dose of the action we’ve received and taken and factored in because the factories have closed and so the raps begin to come at the door as the landlords come to oppose the dwellers of their own homes —  just need a little bit longer to pay the bills, to make rent, to sit and chill — yeah, im beside myself — be beside myself, only alone here, only me alone here — blue as the sky, queer as redlight — i must be insane to think anything could have been anything else but pain and self and trading rags for wealth in this gyp’d over crip’d over crypt tomber cliff hanger tongue pincher metal clanger coathanger icepick abortion of a reality we all take so fucking wonderfully for granted.

granted we can think of anything other than the pendulum swing of unlife’s unreal treatment of time and life. just let it roll on, just wish it goodbye.