Memorandum Of Understanding

What is unregulated capitalism up to today? Never mind. I’d rather not know. Let’s talk about something else. Last night, the impact of a meteor ignited everything in the city except the harbor. It was extraordinarily beautiful. it sometimes happens that disaster and various other cataclysmic events are quite beautiful. There seem to be a lot of catastrophes lately. Wildfires, wars, gargantuan chunks of ice breaking off of Antarctica, rivers drying up, houses cracking, whales and sharks capsizing pleasure craft. We live in apocryphal times. This is a boon for language, which is always hungry for crises. Anything to break the monotony of sequence. It’s clean below the problem but none of the hats fit. We need new formulas for everything. Tear the van apart from top to bottom: we are my own construction. It began when I was four, and president of the floor. I saw a cake rock back and forth and assumed it had consciousness smeared all over it. It didn’t. It was just frosting. Consciousness is not caused by sugar. Consciousness is caused by a static electric charge. And two pounds of flour. Believe me. I’m just as anxious as you are to get out of here. I know what it’ll take to get us to Hypatia, about 101.2 light-years from Earth in the constellation Draco. But I don’t know what will be required of us when we arrive. Perhaps nothing. We’ll get around. Pay attention to the local vibe. I have a motor of plywood and this is my zoom. The next time you see me I’ll be across the room. It’s sad to see a culture die. Keep the windows closed. We’re the blossoms it’s incongruous to kiss. Life’s continuous bobble approves the beat of the unprecedented. We move forward. We find time to think. And paint. And talk. And raise philodendrons. I thirst to think is as good as to say try a car next time you feel like a praline. I was raised by a paradigm and lived in a brain. When I arrived at the age of mutual consent I braced for the crash. In the end, all my misperceptions had been perforated. I found wisdom among the amphibians. Or sometimes I’ll imagine I’m in a hotel room. Fresh white towels. Escritoire. Queen-size innerspring mattress. The puddle I left in the bathroom reflects a kinetic sculpture of bicycle wheels, phonemes, trampolines, bus tokens, cloudbursts, coil inductors and homographs wandering around in circles. I believe it was some form of towel rack. Shower curtains have always been a problem for me. As well as faucets, forceps, four-way stops and mezzanines. The wallpaper is pure Dada, and consists of fornicating airport runways imposed on a theme of banjos. It happens that our life beats inside, and when we see such things as devotion, it makes us go sanguine. All else is, by comparison, an ill-fitted window. A torn bag hangs from my elbow. It’s true. I like throwing distortions at the wall. I keep hoping a door will open. And when it does, I’ll open it & enter the journey of words it brings.