Especially When I'm Swimming

First, I make a chain of associations by eating jelly into existence. Then, if the weather is clumsy, I describe things as tantalizing or contrite, depending on the situation, and with an eye toward shape and juxtaposition. Scale is important, and so is cryptography. Whenever a history overflows it must be sprinkled with sage or it becomes clothing. Do you hear the siren? It’s a sign of respect. It means there’s danger in the air, and that’s when things become stellar, and vigorous and radical. Hundreds of crows swirl and mingle in the air. It's time to do something birch, and bivouac in a prayer, as a fever welcomes the after-effects of a derby. Anyone who can twist beauty into flesh deserves a ruby. The body must retain its idea of cadence or lose it in bandages. Needles are good for administering pain medication to the dying, checking the air pressure in a tire, or measuring the electrical power of a copula. It is at precisely this point that I start the lasagna and arrange a slide through a forest of diamonds. I'm trying to make things easy and glorious, like holding a cashmere shawl and feeling its indiscretion with your fingers.

It would be nice to be at the ocean. It would be nice to feel the blunt true honesty of existence, the immensity of it all, the rawness of it all, the hiss of water rising in sheets of effervescing foam over the sand, the delicacy of the night air sliding over your skin, infinite sensations alive in a single moment. The immensity excuses every crazy thought that crawls around in my brain. The infinite isn’t picky. Eternity isn’t pious. These things have a science, and a benediction. There’s nothing crazier than a universe with things popping in and out of it. This has a name. It’s called absurdity, and there’s nothing funnier than absurdity. There’s absurdity in death, absurdity in pain, absurdity in desolation, absurdity in despair, absurdity in certainty, absurdity in courtesy, absurdity in circuitry, and absurdity in rhyme. Thinking of the ocean isn’t quite the same as being at the ocean, it never is, thoughts are never the same as loops, as actual rings, brass rings on a merry-go-round, bronze rings on a granite slab. You can’t think yourself warm by imagining a fire when you’re mountain-climbing in a blizzard. And this is what’s so remarkable about the ocean. My thoughts cease thinking and let the whole universe into my breath.

I like to be friendly. It suits my disposition. I think I was born with it. Maybe not. I don’t know. Being open and friendly was the general order of things not long ago. People are frightened now. Or apathetic. Or both. And maybe I’m not as friendly as I think I am. Perceptions get sloppy in old age. Boundaries collapse. Shapes become insistent. Definitions get feathers. Metals confuse the issue. Goads get discussions doing. Discussions get goads going. Duties are abandoned. Values alter. Altars alter. Things get silly. Rain especially. Rain is just plain silly. Try clutching the air and squeezing rain out of it. Learn to merge with traffic. This is a difficult skill. It requires a superb sense of timing, a lot of grit, and Jerry Lee Lewis. It helps to be kinetic. No suitcase should have to beg for a chair. A good slap of warm water from the faucet is good for the face. Distortions often bring clarity. The stars in the night sky no longer exist. You’re looking at a light that’s taken billions of years to reach your eyes. Ghosts are everywhere in life. A lot of people become ghosts before they’re dead. Or know they’re dead. Like that scene in Sixth Sense when Bruce Willis sees Anna drop his wedding ring and notices that he’s not wearing one. I believe it’s called dissociation. Feeling like you’re dead when you’re not dead is not a good way to be dead. It means you’re alive. You only stop feeling dead when you’re dead. That said, when it comes to death, all bets are off. My mind isn’t a telescope. It’s more like a load of wash. What I imagine and what I experience are unauthorized and palpable, especially when I’m swimming.