Beating browshares into swords.

(Continued from the blog Change)

When all the writing embodiments were exhausted, I left the room. It was well after three o’clock, and the sun was entirely blinding. People in low cute dresses pranced from shopping excursions, and straight men slouched with papers on corners, chomping cigars. The infrequency of everything armed me, with a certain vision I’d seldom seen before; could this be the reality I’d sought, under the incorporation of reckless travel and edgy circumstances?


"Everything is in negotiation, when you’re not married." and the he was not referring to self-marriage, where life is the sound of sand falling to paper, but the satiety of water under the brink of the bridge. There was a large article on nuclear blasts of the past, and where the politics came from which demanded them, whereby the Peruvian’s thoughts truncated at late childhood which many cultures deem early adulthood, where he judged existence by the strength and quantity of cocaine, closely aligned with strong drink, music and sex. His stories were legendary; diverting the realm of blatant excess, to swoon the edge of the divine. In the restaurant we were loud and gregariously ordering noting its absence on the menu, but he spoke the reality of cunning culinary mime, and good waiters know what’s up. They cajoled the cooks to whip the stops out, and grill the heart meat slathered with the boss’ imported sauce ingredients. I thought they would throw us out of the place well before the question of coffee and desert. They told me he was over fifty, and had been a caddy for twenty five years. I was dumbfounded. Fifty~! Aghast. The dude had a demeanor of late twenties, gainfully seeking fun as employment. I thought of nobody in particular, and comparted this man to them, finding them lacking in many regards, as one might imagine, bisecting the crazy circumstances of smoking a wicked dose of bud, on the bench outside of the restaurant, my nonexistence verified. Instinct took over, leading us astray; the rampage began.


"Do you think the universe cares if we live or die?" I said, "We’re instinctually attached to and repulsed by the question." My greedy fresh-thought machinations congradualted themselves. The mystery of what we know already coveted itself; more couples slumped on each others’ hidden hands, seeking the glory their egos craved, in moistening genitals. Break beats music vibrated the plaster molecules binding the walls, as we relaxed in a squishy sea of blaring psychedelic pillows, and dutifully passed an enormous joint over our heads between warring parties vying for the dubious trophy of ‘most stoned’. "It all means nothing, and everything, but ... where does that leave us? Everything seems rather excessive, whereas nothing seems closer to painful reality nobody’s shouting at street corners, because it’s so damned unpopular, few will tithe to its religion." He rubs his chin, and scratches his ear. "Maybe that’s the irony we can’t ascend, having pondered the immensity of things." I pretend ... like I’ve heard what he said. Actually, my full attention was doting a radiant flower girl’s breasts, way up firm and high, to quote a song. "What?" He repeats his thought dutifully, suddenly cognizant of what blinded me. "Damn." "It’s a strong argument for everything." "She sure is; probably on E though ... hard to sustain that incandescent quality in the world." It was a sore thought; the deal had gone bad—five thousand dollars was unaccounted for, and collateral was sparse at best, more truthfully wishful thinking, the chain had snapped at a single link, kinetically robbing our coffers for gain. "It’s odd how when the world explodes leaving you fucked, you realize the world hands out directions on how to view its actions-reactioned anew. Take it or leave it; your choice. Suffer, meditate, or rejoice." "Shit... you ready to blow this place?" "To where?"


Into the pulverizing beats we swayed and spun, as jerked metronomes spasmodically ticking a tune of beats per minute, DJs optimized our collective heart towards. The doors banged, and we entered the chill airs of feral cats on fire escapes, and nicotine addicts’ doses. The realities cleaved by the fire door were breathtaking, disorienting us.
"Of course I want children; I didn’t say that wasn’t important."
"Then why are you breaking up?"
"He’s gone a lot ... not very present. I want somebody to knit a juicy, nourishing household with." I elbow my compatriot.
"Did you hear that?"
"Yes I did."
"Juicy-nourishing?"
"Crazy. Women are wired completely differently."
"She was actually offended!"
"Yea. Her friend suffers a knee-jerk repetition of what women should do in their world. Be a mom and validate themselves. Make a juicy nest and reproduce, with a homebody provider."
"Yuck."
"So easy to say, so hard to resist."