The Human Condition

What is the human condition? Four features of our condition: our awareness of our own awareness; human existence precedes its essence; the occasional use of semicolons to make a point and the deep-seated sense of alienation that follows from all this. Here it comes: the Columbia River Gorge. It was there all the time. It just required our assent. Our assent to descend. Our assent to ascend. Our ascent to assent. By which we ascertain multiple layers of rock. And this is another condition: the rate at which the car moves with a bad ignition coil. This will need some looking into. Continual searching is all part of the human experience. The search for lost reading glasses (which one is wearing). The search for a charming melody. The search for oil. The search to get away from oil. Or just plain oil. It’s a diphthong, after all, which is the equivalent of being good at ping pong. Diphthongs are fluid, and towns and clouds and deer. The search for love and understanding. Understanding the search for love. Loving the understanding that comes with sharing a bed. The softness in any alphabet based on a cosmology of linen. It was only real when seen from a distance; up close, it resembled pancakes. If you see a compass swollen with syntax please write to William Wordsworth, Romantic Movement, my head. Area code E = mc². Name one compelling thing that doesn’t require an allegory to go with it. Everything in life gives us something to decipher, be it a coffeehouse or an airport. You ask: what is kinetic energy? It's a drive in the country. It coordinates the private walk we do at night when the moon is full and our glass is empty. We freely grant what our requirements emit. And this is how energy becomes an eager participant in our lives, creating matter when nothing matters, and holes where they do. My taste for flying is coming. I can feel it in my toes. But mostly in my imagination. I have a pact with gravity: don’t bother me when I’m sleeping. It invites a bone which brings forth a simulacrum. When this happens, example sees what we beg from the beyond. Swans glide into thick mist. Alchemy greets the rise of my crisis. Everything feels Victorian, with a touch of ice hockey. I think the word is anachronistic. Or is it pantheistic? You decide. I’m done with decisions. From now it’s all about indecisions. Incisions. And peyote visions. Do you understand what I’m saying? Me neither. It appears, so it would seem, that between the two of us, we’ve aroused a different language, a flow of bark and French ochre. I feel an apotheosis on the way. And a new paradigm. And a new sign. To say nothing of puzzles, which will be worked out with predicates, and dragged across the river, without getting wet.