Thursday, January 17, 2013


There are some things we are not meant to see,
nor hear
nor taste.

Some ghosts prefer their privacy over frivolous social interactions.

Other poisons are best left un-ingested.

That's why I wear this helmet and always bring my own food.

The Diving Bell & The Hot Air Balloon

didn't it used to seem much easier?
all you had to do was move.

You feel like You're moving underwater.

Like those sticky weeds are catching at Your ankles, trying to drag You down.
Working to confuse You, twining and slippery and vague.

You might swim up higher and higher to avoid the depths.
But then You get altitude sickness and
soon have to struggle back down, flapping
Your arms hysterically and barking vomit -
basically You look like an idiot.
What the fuck?!

So, just for the sake of feeling like You're going forward, You might dive deeper, deeper, DEEPER than You ever have before, thinking that immersion and pressure and darkness will do the trick.
"I will move through this water, I will move under this water.",
but still later You emerge dripping wet and
slimey and tired.
Told You so.

Are you still looking for the middle, the creamy center, the luscious jet stream on which one can ride this dear Dear Life?

Is there a straight path, a smooth green lawn that never ends?
Where is the signage, the arrows with the glowing discs; the green lights, the empty freeway,
the gas pedal jamming down to the floor????

Can't you just let me through?

But maybe there is no path, no 
visible markers to point You on Your way.
Maybe the struggle is the.............

There is only this water which resists You,
and the weeds that grab and seem to
never want to let go.
(Next time try cutting them with Your knife.)

There is also the sky that beckons and
the bottomless depths always working silently underneath.