Let us assume a sensation that is humored by clouds and hair. Let us assume a feeling of scintillation. And the intention of it is yelling. And there are punches and riddles. Let us assume that there is an airplane made of glass and coffee and spurs. The snow I’ve nailed to this sentence is a gratuity. If I slap the water like a hawk it glitters with crustaceans and minerals. It isn’t really saying much, but solitude is good for the soul, as are wildebeests and sunlight. Is it possible to chisel redemption from a waterfall? I don’t know, but there’s a shameful amount of homelessness in the United States. Taxi headlights penetrate the night. Did I mention meeting Buffalo Bill one night in a dream? It’s true. I had just developed a wattle beneath my chin and was thinking of growing a goatee. I admired Buffalo Bill’s goatee very much. This proves that the true nature of the dream is cradled in desire, just as we suspected. This is why the mind rides a whirlwind of words. And the willow is glued together with a kiss. What a strange proposition life has turned out to be. Culture is ontological. It has to be. Otherwise, hair is just an enigma. My emotional spectrum is resonant with red. This explains nothing, but if we all assume that our reproductive organs enjoy a wisdom all their own, there is a dark genius at the heart of it, and causality and keys. We all live in a jukebox paradise. Consider the hum of gravity as a form of singing, an undulation of energy extending throughout the universe somewhat like a stethoscope, or trumpet. I think of this every time I iron a shirt, or watch the snow fall on a river. Distance plus velocity equals we’re alone. Equals whipped cream in a red mug. Equals ambient web. Equals the sag of time in a sidewalk. I don’t say these things for the sake of sewing, I say them because my mind is pressed against the door and I feel full of water, like a color walking in bones. I’m trying to get to the other side. The other side of what, I don’t know. I’ve just heard it’s greener on the other side. You know? I mean, how can it not be? Who doesn’t like to stand in the shower murdering syntax? It takes time for the blood to circulate. Once the sexual morning gets going the rest comes easy. You just hop on a Corot and let Lake Como do the rest.
In the Murk
1 day ago