It is the thing itself that most calls to us in times like these. We flange and flip the dial to dry-rot our own inner daemons till the mail is bounced back like basket-weaving balls. Meaning? More melancholy morose musings mostly.
Is it time.. defined?
Look. I know what I said and I said what I know; a Queue goes this way when a Queue does go. Please to be inserting coin into the slot and thereupon we will make music most magnanimous.
I went up a mountain the other day. I drove the ridiculously heady machinery they provided me here in order to do so (I am not man-chine enough to mountain mine it myself, let's say.) It was at the top when I realized that I have times of supreme acrophobia. As other lumbering metal beasts careened my way, this realization became a terrifying mass of incapacity. I sat still, hindering any other passage for a bit and it was merely lucky for me that this mountain was not Mohammed's but a desolate place this day.
The drive down was the worst of it all. I sat trembling with fingertips sweating the steering column assured I would short out the fucker in my driveling essence. Serene. I made it though, and told the tale. Such a paltry thing to be caught sideways by phobia when murkymen and wilywomen do more in a days work than that which yours truly could hope for out of an outright liesmith.
Still though, it was an adventure.
Outside my (motel-hotel) there's a spot where the truckers who barrel between Seattle and LA stop to rest themselves. The other day I saw a man, shirtless and haggard, move to the side window to empty a cup of urine in the dusty empty lot nearby. I laughed at this for a time, and then realized that we are both travelers in our own right. The mask of the fatter is that I seem less so with the extended payroll plunge.
Oh and at the end of next month it will be all hobnobbery in Chicago with people who make enough money for Solomon to blush. How will that go down? (Not smooth as a mountain stream I am sure, but then I remember who I am and the Q-charm that twinkle twinges on the fringes will light up as it does for me in times of need. I know this now. but it's like.. man I can't afford the Oxen. "Fee-fi &c" I smell the warm blood of the bill collector knockin. To para-fraid that is to say.
Regardless, and without regard, here is the thing that flames retard: A tenuous grasp on the petal-flower mention out yonder the window. I caught a bumming herd out there dilly dallying like I was King the other day (lally lally), and there did I try to snatch the beast with my machinations. Unlikely as though it were, they are creatures whose sole purpose it to overcome their purport. I tried though friends.. I tried and I lied in the grass with frontface all wet with the shame of the hunt.
Therein I laid myself back in the cabin until time calls me again. Who knows when that will be friends, who knows?
Shit.. I have a story brewing about Panther Jack. It's a long one. Maybe I will type it out... maybe.
How are you all? HOW ARE YOU FUCKERS?!
-Q (be Q be Q seadoo)
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