Gadzooks

Here comes a moment. I can feel it. Feel it coming. It will be here in a moment. I can feel its momentum. Its mood. Its mooring. Its arrival from space. It has the weightless force and heat of a soul, an indefinable energy, an oscillation of waves. Nothing defines it. It’s a loose, indeterminate emergence of time, the debris of time, no specificity, no particularity other than the sensation of forward momentum. The moment a mimosa blooms. And the moment it dies. It’s fundamentally a bump in time. The flight of a wasp: erratic, but fiercely determined. When something is indefinite there’s a temptation to throw words at it. Sometimes a shape will emerge, a vague geometrical form. And that will be the moment the moment arrives and is gone. But is it? If you can dispute a Renaissance you can be a Renaissance. Every day is a Renaissance. We hear thunder. The clouds crack open and the rain pours down. You can smell it: negative ions. When molecules of air break apart, you get the imprimatur of chaos. Random irregularities which are the outward ragout of an underlying pattern. Fractals, interconnectedness, feedback loops and rubber bands. A butterfly flapping its wings in Texas causes a typhoon in Taiwan. And it’s a fragrance like no other. An energy on the loose. There’s a suggestion of fuchsia, of femininity, and fireworks. Bacchanals. Champagne spurting out of a bottle. Bubbles and alcohol. Stemmed glasses. Weddings and enzymes. It’s not easy to change a mind but it’s easy to alter a mood. And maybe when all is said and done changing a mind is easier than you think. I was eager to see the shadows remove their shoes & dance on the walls of my grammar. Here’s the thing: I crave the sun’s heat to go into my bones and take a quick look around. Or something to that effect. There are certain desires that can go on & on & on for billions of years. It’s now late in the play & I’m getting dizzy from being this old & wondering if I will have enough hair at the end of my life to do a credible performance of “Paint It Black” at Glastonbury. But is hair the issue? Find yourself in what is different. Producing a play means scenery, costumes, and nerve. Most recent productions suggest GAD: Generalized Anxiety Disorder. But I’ve got a prescription for that. We’re all plagued with one thing or another. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Said Susan Sontag. I have gustatory rhinitis, benign prostatic hyperplasia & chronic hypergraphia & so I try to extract whatever wisdom I can from sunsets, turpentine & Jack Kerouac. I think density is mostly mass with a dash of thickness. For example, quarks crackle in my new Hawaiian shirt, but the electrons in my eyebrows are totally insane. Ideas are mostly ribbon. But thoughts are pure goldish. The great thing is that when symmetry is pushed to its limits & gets asymmetrical the punchbowl groans like a window into the unknown, which is served with a glass of crisis.