Polysemy Park

The charm of any theory is that it’s refutable. It can be huge & ludicrous. It can float in the mind like a cruise ship. You can take it with a grain of salt. You can give it a dirty look. But one day the “why” arises & everything begins. Theories are a weariness tinged with amazement. My favorite theory is the theory that language determines & structures our apprehension of reality. This implies that if a lively language is keeping you from sleep you will awaken the next day & speak the language of dreams, which is a language similar to living in a city. At first, nothing makes sense. And then everything does. And that’s when the world is a very soft voice, lips unzipping a larger peculiarity. Kelp & Irish moss. Peter Green with a piece of cheese in his hair.

What’s the difference between a theory & a chair? A chair is a structure such for sitting, kissing, spitting, quitting, emitting, omitting & unremitted knitting. Theories are insights juiced by a spirit of inquiry. Theories are wonderfully abstract & gallant. I’ve got theories about everything. I believe that fungus has intelligence, that dunes are beautifully sculpted by the wind, & that when money becomes a deity the sublime gets buried in bullshit. New Age Silicon Valley billionaires dining on steak & lobster at Burning Man. Tent cities for the have nots. Teslas & tanning salons for the haves. And so on. Theories do not cure ignorance. But at least they don’t create it.

Death is a private affair. But not always. It impels reflection. I feel the sympathy of earth in a loaf of bread, how the universe is matter & energy, which is nice, but really, it’s mostly sourdough. You know? I can feel you under my skin. I feel you squirm. You’re thinking: who is this asshole? My brain feels gray as an operating table. Bewildering as a tumor, dusty as an old book. Rattlesnakes aren’t cruel they’re just rattlesnakes. Morality doesn’t exist in nature. Grace & energy belong to the realm of the highway. This is where words & people collide creating sparks. I just left behind a lot of ambiguity. I’m often trailed by a lot of ambiguity. It’s an occupational hazard, like polysemy. Millions of words suffer this affliction daily. Donate now.

The sun’s liquor falls into my refraction. My reflection. My misbegotten swivel. My enzymes & sleeves. The modality thickens & confesses a nibble at probability. It’s impractical to write anything anymore & so the writing has never been better. Everything’s been said & there’s nothing to say. Not saying anything requires a lot of words. Ask Mayor Pete. Go ahead ask him. I like to hobnob with the prolific. The subconscious is a furious recreation. Introspection stands on three legs immoderate trembling & Gothic. It takes a guitar to cry. But it takes a haiku to iron a shirt.

I dwell within the colors surrounding me. Once, I pulled a bronze shield from the dirt, brushed it off, & admired the workmanship. But I’ll stop fooling around now & move toward you with tomatoes & kilohertz. The external world is the work of our organs. Eyes, ears, nose, mouth. Appearances & dreams. Movies & pizza. There’s an energy in the head demanding kingdoms. The mind craves meaning. And the field expands. There is a chain of cause & effect. Avoid guns & knives. Consider Mahler. A vowel without a consonant is just a naked sound. But a vowel enclosed within a sack of consonants will develop a spine & get up & walk around in your mind.