In the oppressive glare of the impersonal metropolitan shimmer, amphibian fabrications smashed flat as stone lie open and unnoticed as if to say, “the dogs are coming and we’ve not yet . . . stone . . . this is the last time . . . stone . . . listen . . .”
In the wide open spaces of the city streets, they would wander with us – perhaps then – perhaps, as if, in the cool of the mountain glade on the leeward side of the storm – whistling through the needles of the mind – after we’d left the sea and the islands of our youth to wander through the streets, dreaming of forests of . . . stone . . . perhaps we’d know the truth – but the truth is not free and it comes only to those who search – who search for their . . . we search for pizza and forgetfulness, for faucets that don’t drip and clocks that tick and monkeys that talk – a mix of the ridiculous and who knows what . . .
In the mists of the ancient forests, there lie the secrets of a thousand years hidden in the great Gregorian pillars of the pines – why are we here – what are we to do – if the ferns would sing the answers . . . if the deer . . . the wolf . . . the toad . . . the stone . . . the world . . . the misty dripping mosses . . . the aged lichens . . . answers to the search for the secrets of the ages – where are we – who are we – whole lives lapsed and the cost is death . . .
In the caverns of my mind there are many rooms, if it were not so I would have told you – I’ve prepared the fire – the thanksgivings – the sweet aroma of the years, but where are the smells and tastes and feelings you borrowed from the movies?
So I was licking this toad and he was saying that the world is like a box of chocolates and I said, “Look! There are clues to be found and poisonous snakes and jellyfish and manta rays and mortgages and eyes that see and ears that hear and noses and arms and air-speed-velocity and leprechauns and Albanians and lemurs and swine flu and William Shatner!”
WHATEVER COULD BE, MUST BE!
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Have you been drinking the Kerouac again? I suspect that if you had the time to continue writing in this manner it would actually develop into something. Note how already you feel forced into a dialogue with something - I think that was the shifting point where your brain says "enough wallowing, let's go this way." Of course, it doesn't know exactly what it wants to say yet, but something is there. What I would really like to see, is to have you do this for a half-hour a day, for a week, just to warm up. Then re-read it for themes, choose the most disturbing thing that seems to be on your mind, hold that in the forefront of your mind as "what we will be talking about" and then let loose like this, and let yourself get around to it when it feels right. I think the result would be fantastic.
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