Hibachi

If I sense the day is raw, I will wear it in the local bars. Our salt is that compelling. The twang, of course, is a French ochre. It gurgled it in its entirety through my analysis. I removed all the opinions, as I needed to give it some reality. I folded it into a signature flibbertigibbet, a brine of cartwheels, which ballooned into a new biology. This required some sifting. I needed to do something prophetic. I squirted a beard on my face, which made it biblical. Until we lure ourselves into listening, we’re really only loops. But if it’s quicker to abandon what we intended to begin with, then yes, it strikes my fancy to flap it around the cleavage, bouncing words off the kinks of the vista. Last night, for example, I dreamed I was lost in Illinois. Whatever makes a dump, I pondered the supply. I backed the language into cracks. A highly vocal freight hung in suspension, screaming, belching, and bending the bars of its cage. This is what words do when they embark on chocolate. Everything gets expectant, and thought starts to feel like an airport. Even a boat has gravity. It takes some considerable evocation to clap a token improbability across the tangible. I’ve heard so many the first time I met Bob Dylan stories it’s all I can do to remedy the time with intrigue. I must cling to obscurity. Because if I don’t, the words start feeling contrary, and invent their own hibachi.

Hibachi (火鉢) literally translates to "fire bowl" in Japanese. Chögyam Trungpa: “Things are symbols of themselves.” Gustave Flaubert: “the ordinary is extraordinary.” The best way to light some words on fire is to make a god of induction and reason from particular instances. Plunder the brain for quiet pleasures. Anxiety is a hive of false honey. I am at war with my anguish. This is clearly the wrong approach. It indicates a too-controlled canvas, and an unwillingness to flirt with anarchy in all of its unfocussed and glorious pleasures. Everybody hunts for a landscape appropriate to their predilections, even if it means a night in Bangkok. The immediate supersedes the eventual, the generalized, and the superficial. Acceptance of things as they are is the best way to get across a terrain of unexplored turmoil. When the hammer of conviction surrenders to the thrill of a beautifully finessed negative capability, the sky thickens with birds, the blood simmers with a magnificent perturbation, and the charcoal blushes with fire.