Friday, January 4, 2013

Epistle. To Mercy Hunt

   Ever have those days? You know the ones I mean. Those days. They might be anything. And then anything again. One distinguishing characteristic they have is to circle back around from the day before and tap gently at your skull  like a jeweler's tiny hammer fashioning a silver ring before it's inscribed. Hey you in there - what do you think? Can we let fantasies of liberation get to us? And if we do what happens then to the old presumable self that wears us like a raincoat on a bright sunny day? Ever get chased around like that? That no matter what you do to the contrary time appears solid and wants a blank disk from you to burn and copy a new music? It's scary to think - aren't we tired yet?  And it's a sort of blessing to look out and be scared and think the tulips enjoy the water... someone yesterday passed by and said this is just like Seattle but without the benefits... and I said what do you mean... but they left without answering. I've never been to Seattle so I wouldn't know.
   But it has been raining so much these days so maybe this looks like Seattle?
   I said to the nurse art does not pay.
   What she said the show's been up for five weeks and running and you've sold all the red ones. This is not a time to have doubts.
   But I said why hasn't someone gotten in touch and said I'm not interested at all in what you do?
   Listen she said what's to the good comes in strange and measured doses. Why compound it by looking through it? You have a payday and leave it a that. You might even be successful. You might even sense you were in touch with something. But no. You need to live your life and what you do like that life was forty degrees downward from ninety from the life you live.
   What does that mean I asked?
   The nurse laughed and said I haven't a fucking clue. Would you like breakfast? Or are you being stubborn this morning?
    Breakfast I said.
    Eggs beans tortillas salsa mexican style and served up like an environment... like there was the nurse... and there was a field you saw begging your retinas and was stamped in a message that you'd be foolish not to cross the fences across that field to walk over to the other side. Who argues with food? Only the wealthy or the damned can be so stupid.
    Deep creek New England nowhere she reminded me from where she was and setting our plates down upon the table with a slow handed grace. I've seen it before - here as it was handed on a plate before me - and other plates that went on before me and I've seen it handed elsewhere - not like a dream but flashes from the real world - and that world was someplace back then before I was around but I see it now plain as rain or the sunlight that's not there - and I swear this was a kind of deliverance to the obvious failings on my part. Do you imagine there's some mathematical coding? Something that turns your brain into a password for dashed hopes?
    And in a manner of speaking what I do runs parallel to what everyone else does only at a slower pace because I have not only wounds and aspirations but also I hate to pull up short and stand about like I'm empty handed or didn't plan on something happening and you probably don't know what I mean but how do you care about something unless you know that something does not care about you and while it doesn't leave you stranded it does leave you spinning your wheels and each of these days I think I'll put some cash into an envelope and mail it to myself and yea that'll do it and maybe time starts again


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