I'M OUT OF BLOODY WORK
You know as I do we're in the thick of thin reality
wafered by puffed-up doughs & doughnuts: what I mean is,
all the same it's the reluctant game of work & play -
see & saw - come & gone -yin & yout - n'est-ce pas?
& who be they if not your maw & paw?
Hang on to your hair & grow.
Shrinking is incredible & can lead to nowhere.
Growing is everywhere.
Are they different?
It's a question of life & death!
Breathe deep & slow... alive & well...
essence of smile, perfumed kisses, satin pillow dreams.
Gone? Like the stars at sunrise. Only seem.
Unseennesses watching you from unheard-of spaces
around the corner of your consciousness. Me too!
Mundane. Admit it. Monday... Friday.
Employed, deployed, ployed!
Undersky (Back in the USSR).
Overseas (Look! a plane).
One foot at a time, share the shoe that treads
The Middle Path.
The grind of mind to city dust, sprinkled freely
from the night before the day after whenever,
the cows come home from office:
moovements! we are alive? oddly enough yes.
Scratch the lid.
Where were we? Planetbound plummeting,
gazing eyeshaded at columns of figures,
balancing sheets on beds of nails,
snoring at the soul of sleep,
converting bucks to does,
dreams to rapid eye movements!
we are alive? oddly enough even.
Literature: rather read than write.
What, I am no stranger to scientific fact & fiction.
Unpunctuated truth misread: typographical errors,
archetypal terrors, Kafka in the Terramite Kolony!
Senses lying spreadeagled, living like vultures
on carrion, regardless.
Redguardless paradise in Peking.
Backpacking to & fro for exercise.
Backbends & jumpingjacks in denim daily.
Chugalong Casually... I think the train stops here.
Introduce Factor Y to Formula X
Why do I go on this way I wonder. Obvious answer:
didn't get much sleep last night, brain reeling off,
flapping flatulent wind of fat mind starved of fantasy,
forcefed with routine precision... tgofd=]&%#i!
definitely defined as Occupation: anthropomorphist!
thank heaven for hardworking postmen. Narcissisms
delivered within a week. Silly letters forwarded directly.
Solipsisms banished to Dead Letter Office.
Santa Claus & God Fan Club - mailsacks bulging with
Unanswered Questions. Did I say male sacs?
From the Editor's Large Intestine, a turd of thanks.
(I don't understand this at all.)
So. Factor "Y" is just another load of the same old
chromosomal discharge! Nothing has changed
except the level of water in my bladder.
I still love you whenever I think of you.
I think of you more often than you might expect. I love you
more than you think. Or domine doowah; maybe I think
more often than I love? Even my wife forgives me for
giving so little to so many, instead of so much to so few.
I've been taking too much & have been taken too often to
give in to a God that gets annoyed at Himself because
there's no one else to blame for the Universe.
How does it fit into your scheme or nonscheme of things?
Sideways or feetfirst... everyone's a bundle of great big
happy vibes. Coming round to ultimates, everything is
perfect, even me as I write this & you as your eyes scan
this very line: PERFECT!
So why the fear?
I don't know. Avidya, ignorance. I smile & know.
I'm no buddhist says the buddha.
I'm no christian says the christ.
I'm an atheist god explains.
If the whole world is a stage, quips the playwright,
I'm out of bloody work.
[Fragment of a personal communiqué to Jeanne Marie Charlotte Donven whose first
attempt at oil painting is featured below]