I try to write fiction that doesn't lie. I lie in wait of the truth, finding what I know of scraps from experience... hard fought and won... one falling over another.. a mountain stream of consciousness... free of my own prejudices and ideals. Set me down in the ocean of dreams... let me float above in a glass bottom boat... jet ski me across the choppy landscape of waters... land my soaking, naked body on the beach... solid ground of being, past the shifting sands of facts... the atoms of Damocles... Oh,Father Blake, pontiff of my reality... grant me permission to press on... press on through the doors of perception. Am I a dog scratching at evasive fleas... an audience of stars...? Give the idea an ideal to grasp. Grasp the entrails of the unknowable before they slip away dear Zarathustra... speak no more about the Superman... he is a lost vision, goosestepping on a comic-book cover, inked in with kryptonite, banned by our PC seers... Oh, volital evaporation of truth, let me stretch my fingers around your vapors.... why not... who am I to think I will let go of something that entertains me in the bardo... this breath of life between pauses of the inhaling and exhaling of the cosmos... if I can't dream now... how will I recognize the Dream of the Grand Foopah hereafter? If wishes were fishes they'd do all my dishes... if they did all my dishes I'd have nothing to do in the here and now.
geo, 03/28/2012
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| Another Dog Watching the Goddess Play |
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