Visible and Invisible Friends and Nervous Tremors in the Atmopshere

Reflections in a Petri Dish — March 19, 2018

Dog Poet Transmitting…….
To fart without hearing, to see without wonder …these are a few of the things I would plunder. Yeah, that’s how I would do the Sound of Music. Get it right, get it straight, job one, from day one. Just so you understand,we don’t grow cameltoes down here on trees. They do that shit in Kalifornia. Got rules and such about it too! Hey, Fuckwad! Get me two papoose style kangaroos, in a hanging cage from Paris Hilton’s downstairs dungeon and suspend them from S&M piercing hooks and form it to a pendant to wear around my neck (no real kangaroos were hurt during the filming). I can’t tell you what happened backstage. Because a bunch of gorillas were gang-banging a Hallelujah choir on my way in here. They weren’t all that pleased about it, maybe they were buying their time. They hadn’t gotten to the money shot yet. It’s Okay, next week its the gorilla’s turn in the barrel. Uh oh. Thar she blows. Anybody got some Clorox, Windex, Squeegees and a towel? Hey! It’s Petri Dish. In the Ide’s de I De March Post and don’t tell me you haven’t seen this before and didn’t stop to watch it, properly attired of course. Cause next week it’s you.
You know how it goes, first they came for the communists and I did not freak out, sounded good to me. I actually applauded. Because I wasn’t a fucking commie!!! Then they came for the Socialists and I didn’t give a shit because Socialism is never Socialism anyway. Then they came for the trade unionists. Yeah? So what? Like I care. Stand in line with the rest of the idiots. Oh, you’re a moron. You get to go to the front of the line! The rest of you, why not go see the gorillas I think they’re okay with that. Then they came for the Jews and I said “good luck But why didn’t you do that first?” You would have saved a of time in the first place… and the collateral damage, the innocent bystanders! Whoops Incoming! But occasionally shit flies over your head “with or without you”. Instead of “take my wife”, Take Bono as The Edge plays that same series of annoying, mesmeric notes…I want Bono’s head shaped into a chiffon, devil fruit cake and delivered to George Bush with a chainsaw. Dinner’s ready! And then they came for me but I was in the room next door watching the gorillas (Honey? Could you pick up a six-pack of high school girls for me while you’re out and also some John Wayne Gacy, clown costume outfits so that the suits in the other room are okay?). “Sure Vis. You know I’m leaving you?” “Yeah just leave the door open on your way”. I meant I’m leaving you to become transgender. I know it doesn’t work but there are appliances, new technology and all. I’m going to join the gorillas and come back and join the party.” “Great… Later.”) and so they didn’t get me, nor anyone else, cause most of it didn’t happen in the first place and I know it’s not funny.
Yeah… this is the kind of thing that happens on a slow day. I let it sit there for a bit to see how I felt about it. So far it is mostly numb below the waste (not a typo), which is what you get when you go on a dumpster fast and do coffee and oxy colonics. Why did I write this? This is the sort of output I store in my chitterlings lined Louis Vuitton tummy pack. I wrote it so that you would know this weirdness lurks just around the corner most days but seldom finds its way past the filters. I save this sort of thing when the comments section starts to resemble a square dance for orangutans, doe see doe. I do it when the wind is no longer in the willows. I do it when the frost is on Pumkinhead. I do it when the news looks and tastes like a Pop Tart made out of meth-head mucus and double wide airplane seats. This kind of writing gets tiresome after about two paragraphs. At first it is so funny that you are clutching your sides and gasping for air. Then it gets less and less funny like an ongoing series of pedestrian cellphone accidents.
You know I’ve been struggling with the tenor and tone of my posts, in a landscape of Hieronymus Bosch paintings… trying to find rhyme and reason. I’m getting older and younger at the same time. The sell by date approaches and I don’t know what anything means. Some of you might thinks that the syntax indicates a depressive state or a hiatus point between now and then. It’s none of these factors. It could be ennui, or weltschmerz but its not those either. What it is is a sign of invisible markers. You know they are there but you can’t see them. You can feel them. They are significators of undefined change. You know something is changing but you don’t know from what or into what. The atmosphere is awash in nervous tremors. Is this the world? Is it the recycled archetypes? Is it me?
You know, somehow, that the change is going to be dramatic. You look at all the signposts of the times; Trump, Putin, the Kardashians, Antifa, staged shootings, Political Correctness and the sexual morphing of square holes and triangular pegs. Search as you might, you can’t find anything that hasn’t already been bent out of recognition from something that was something else before that and before that and before that so… there’s no Norman Rockwell. There’s no music. The level of cultural degeneration is remarkable. Where’s Plato? Where’s T.S. Elliot? Where are the heroes? Where’s Joni Mitchell?
Auto-format is in a state of endless redaction. This is caused by typing over everything again and again. We don’t know what was written there to begin with and we certainly don’t know what is being typed now. It certainly looks like ‘darkness at the break of noon’ and there’s some mention of, ‘there is no sense in trying’ and ‘Disillusioned words like bullets bark. As human gods aim for their mark. Make everything from toy guns that spark. To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark. It’s easy to see without looking too far, that not much, is really sacred.” Yes… it looks like some form of depression or a flat beer with but it really isn’t any of this. It’s those invisible markers with no provenance. You know they mean something. They could be really important but you don’t know why. You do know that at some point it is all going to be explained. This is what they tell you but it has never been explained yet.
The changes that are in flux are the biggest changes in a long time and sound like, “rats feet over broken glass.” Maybe it is like that fog; “The fog comes in on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.” There is poetry in it for certain. There is poetry everywhere for those whose hearts are tuned. Otherwise it is the usual ‘bitches and hoe’s’ It snuck up on us. It was made like license plates in prisons. It got legitimized through redundancy and the typewriter going over and over the same illegible lines.
I had several visitors in the last weeks. First there was William and Gabriel- sweethearts of the rodeo. Then there was Jim from Boulder, who glowed like he had swallowed an incandescent light. Some while before that was Allan from Australia and he was young and flushed with beautiful youth. Billy and Howard came by and I went to see them before that. I got a video in the mail; Dan from Boston. He and his new wife were having their wedding dance and it was to one of my songs! That rattled my core to the point of deliquescence. There was Elle and Astrologer Robert. There was the man who came through and sat on the porch for hours in the cold New Jersey winter and then went and joined the Amish. The singular impact of every one was how really, incredibly beautiful they all were. I was astounded by the quality of my friends. How did I ever get such wonderful friends? Wow! Just, wow!
Sometimes I measure myself by my failures. Sometimes they are all I see. Then I see the tracks of the friends coming and going and I think there can be no place for failure in any of this because I have these friends and there are so many of them that I cannot count or remember them all. How did this happen that I should have friends like this? Few if any of you are in my mind at this moment with these recollections. It is astonishing. One after the other, unique, precious… like Texas line dancing angels. The only feature as incredible as these visible friends is the invisible friends. Off and on, over quite a reach of time, I would tell myself that I was imagining the presence of the invisible friends but… they appear relentlessly, always different, yet always the same …and always in new varieties of aspect. Every time I doubt, a new example appears and there is a Cheshire Cat grin which says it all. By this time, all possibility of doubt has been removed.
It would be picture perfect by now, except for the nervous tremors in the atmosphere. They are neither frightening nor ominous, just sequencing blips that say, “something is coming.” It’s coming under the cover of banality and unusual patterns, whose meaning is concealed by the patterns themselves and it appears simply ordinary, except for the tremors, which are another blind, signifying unimportance when it is anything but that. “One of these days, Alice.”
So… this is where you find me… pondering, wondering. Letting the days between the posts slip by, until something like this shows up and then the next day, something entirely different yet again. It is NOT depression. It’s a reach of time that coils in the storage room of the motor vehicle department. It’s a handful of hours that pass in no time at all on a beach. It’s quadrants and continuum’s. It is a closed circle. It is a spiral. It is a series of moments like a strand of pearls around the neck of an unknown god.
Where did all these friends come from? Visible and Invisible. The answer is deeply connected to this dynamic. I cannot see how I deserve friends like this but I have them and they define me far better than the litany of exaggerated failures and the limping, Sisyphean oxcart that struggles and slips and struggle and slips in the mud and… “it smells like victory (grin)”.
End Transmission…….

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