Oliphant Parts

I just discovered another dinner theatre nearby. This one’s cowboy-themed, plus it offers slow jazz. I want to go, if only to hear slow cowboy jazz. Well, it’s off to Spokane and Riverfront Park. Hopefully nobody in our party will be raped or beaten to death by Spokane police or firefighters. Ah, Spokane, we love you, brutality and all.

Submission and emptiness abound within. I’ve found glory in the word, a voice my own. And yet I find I often plagiarize myself. A heart hardened and stale and dreams of toast. It’s often dreams we seek and sleep away our lives in hope of just one fulfilled. Spinning shimmers and cools in heat and love. A dove in flight or bees abuzz in fields or hive. It lives with will and pain forms aloft. It’s soft, this hope a blinding grope forward and back to the start again. Live in fear or live in hope or live in awe of all that is. It’s love and life and loneliness, only once would be stepping low. Befriend the ones we need to hear and hold to heart and shoulder spleen a wandering lust for chicken. I have not, nor ever will, it’s just too deep and dark and still and craving strike like hunger dawn upon the forest of my song. I sing for shoes; I am that strong to glance upon the blows and furnace of fury in tow below or not it matters little for friends to care to rot before the time is near.

How do I love? With countless things and deep-set pain upon the brow and sinew too. Hewed to bone it smacks against the ship the fate of all too soon. And so I reach an endpoint now and set aside the word for rest. A test of down, a system’s end I sleep I dream and wake again. If only it had fuzzy things that kept me warm when I had need, I’d hold it close and silence doubt and find the end and live without a thought too flat to hold my head and drift along a nodding path awash away ablaze with rest and in the end it’s one more page just one less page of life to fill with cream and memories and things we’ve done.

Fire-soaked kittens ablaze with joy at play within and doubt is left to right the song we hear inside the loam, lost in time and face. A shoe is found, a shoe is lost, a shoe holds dreams and then is tossed. For some it’s hard to bless the cake, a lowly soap and sudless day in burning sky and burning lake I dream I see a moment pass and hold it tight but never ask what day is come and how to tell if life is lived ill or well as deep as this may be it crawls it crawls higher up my spine in tickling steps afright and near a moth or bug? Something that bites I’m sure I feel it start again upon my hip and then I’m numb. I fear I fear that it will be the death of my before I’ve done a damned thing that will live on in spite of who I think I am or even worse what I’ve become in sight of those who feign to care.

Get it off! I scream and run but cannot speak or move it’s far too late and I must sleep and dream of shoes.

Days are strange and so are we. Sometimes I like to write whatever comes to mind, no editing involved. Those who have read anything I’ve written would probably like to argue that I do that now, but I don’t. The following seasoned rambling is what it’s like to be in my head most days. No strange daze needed, it’s all-natural, flowing like the bowels of the muse . . .

Lettuce not forget nor cantaloupe remember, I halve and halve knots, quartering with wild abandon. Never joyful, I sing the song of Spam, disintegrating Ethel and her Viagrously included highlights. Stumbling tumbling fumbling for the words, forsooth and foresworn, the weasel lives. I am the ice-king, kneeling for my daily breadfruits and barking like a loon. The birds sing, acapella light rock with just a twist of lemon and rye.

Bach, to front and back again forlorn, singing for melamine like so many master-gadgetry in a sea of this, that I hear their cries “Melamine Melamine woe is my Melamine?” Et tu, brute? A swift boot and the stench of chlorine surrounds me, diving, climbing swimming falling through the cloud of consciousness. We swarm, bespoke of nevermore and happy things we’ve never seen before the lights and love and taste and sighs oh my it’s been too long you see I’m pleasing me so please don’t bite me there.

A wedge, in time inserted vertically does not please, nor rectally infuse the trust of our elders. Is this thing veneer of reason enough, or should we expect more? If reality is a framework we hang our empty dreams upon, why not strive for less? All or nothing, a question of vision and belief. Was it the chicken or the egg? Did the beatings create the comic, or the comic provoke the beatings? Art breeds madness, or madness art? Society and norms a common thread, or the thread society and norms? It does not matter as we unravel at the seams: Hatred rules everything. The loving farther drowns his children blissfully. Dreams of Dobson, protecting us from sloth and sin through death. Think or die devolves: Think and die shall guide you down the Shining Path of America the Faithful. Do not fear, faith is here, the science of deception and destitution. God defrauds, so welcome Him in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Bush. My lord, my word, imagination. Lock it in, shut it out, burn it down. Think of nothing giving all. To speak is Treason if reason is cast out. Where is my thought? It has not life, no will to speak or dream of dance and many fancy things that shine like liberty equality and sense of right. Is that so wrong, to want to love to live in peace and think of when and how and why? What would you want if there is where you found your shoe in less than perfect happenstance?

Madness then and madness now: How I long for shuttered eyes and open dreams and things that aren’t but should be. Free at least to feel my nose to wiggle my toes and scratch my ass at last. It’s not so dark I can’t make out the disappointment on my face, spreading slowly to my limbs and reaching over all that breathes. It is too dark to be. Don’t bark for me; I am not your dog fetching slippers or fish without strings. Unraveling, traveling gloom. It is hot, so very hot and not a bit like yesterday. So far away they say to laugh at worms asleep in play. Still I cannot find the shoe.

Is it reason or reason enough to ask for more? I cannot share, I know not how or where you want to go today. Indeed in deed I do not care if last or not you lick me, there it is not time to go so stay and find my other shoe.