Dog Poet Transmitting.......
May your noses always be cold and wet.
The force and presence of the moment lately has been remarkably intense. Maybe there are people somewhere who can measure and gauge it or interpret it in a way that makes it understandable but that isn’t me. I’m in a cone of mystery, where nothing is as it seems and every approaching minute is around some corner wearing a fake nose, promising everything that can be imagined and delivering nothing. I can’t imagine a greater intensity that could make everything tremble and shake like this without making anything happen at the same time.
I awoke from sleep this morning to find dementia and delusion had backed off for a space. Coming into last nights crash and burn, I hadn’t slept for 3 nights and that can become seriously wack, so that the peripheral landscape shimmers and shines and vibrates with non existent holographic extensions that tell you that you are entering mushroom city, without actually having taken any. I’ve got varieties of psychedelics all over the place but I haven’t indulged in quite some time. Cue B.B. King and The Thrill is Gone. I remember going to see him one night in a small Washington D.C. club. It might have been The Crazy Horse. I was with John Hall and two statuesque, Amazonian blondes of the traffic stopping variety. After B.B. finished his set he came right down and sat at our table for the obvious reasons. At one point, my friend Douglas Hume, who had come in recently, turned to me and said that B.B. had his hand on my girlfriend’s leg. I had already noted this. I swiveled around to Douglas and said, “Yeah, but it’s B.B. King”. It was actually pretty funny at the time.
It’s interesting what goes on during certain periods in your life. When you’re a teenager, or in your twenties and even thirties, there are all these people around and some of them are really beautiful women. At the time you have no idea that any of it would ever change. You’re living in Surplus City. It’s probably not like this for everyone but it was for me. Then you arrive at some point like it was already marked on the clock and everything changes. All those people aren’t around anymore. Somehow your long hair has disappeared and when you go into a bar it’s populated with all of these unhappy characters and, if you’re in California or Hawaii, there are all of these hard eyed blonde surfer girls with serious sun damage and you can’t possibly talk to them because you’ve got the wrong DNA and you’re not unhappy about that because if it weren’t for that fact, that you were different somehow, you might have had the serious misfortune of actually living with one of them.
Time continues up or down the hard road of The Seven Ages of Man and now you notice that there’s almost no one around and you realize you are spending huge chunks of time completely alone but it doesn’t really bother you. For some reason you actually prefer that. You thought some point was going to arrive where you might get an explanation for all of the things you had been through and maybe even discover a portal or aperture that led into that world you always thought you would somehow disappear into but it hasn’t happened yet. You wonder if you took some kind of a wrong turn back down the highway. You can’t remember it having taken place. You don’t know if it’s just been strange or really weird. It definitely wasn’t anything like the things you noticed everyone else going thru. You’ve arrived at a place where pretty much everyone else doesn’t know where the door handle is and that is because things, objects and the material world had taken on critical importance without being worth anything at all.
Occasionally you realize that at some point you are going to die or disappear and you think there’s a strong possibility for the latter but you don’t know exactly why you feel this way, you just do. You have no sensation of aging in anyway like what you see around you. You don’t feel any particular age and your flexibility hasn’t been affected at all. You live in a small town that came into being around the eighth century and most of the residents are on rails and seriously depressed because of bad history and the absence of spontaneous merriment. You’re traveling through a dead zone of heavy atmosphere in a nation deeply in need of Prozac. You’ve given up telling them that everything they know about history is a lie and you’re already stranger than anything they’ve encountered at any point in their life before until now.
You know it’s going to be a lot worse in many other places so it’s not nearly as bad as it could be. These people are true libertarians and also sensible and frugal, so they can weather the storm a lot better than most places in the west. You just wish they weren’t so insular, dull and suspicious but that’s just how it is.
Sometimes you travel to different locations where you sit in restaurants, clubs or somewhere social and you study the world around you as if it were feeding time at the zoo. You never do get any kind of a handle on why you are so different from everyone else. You’re hyper aware of any number of people staring at you but that’s been going on for a long time. You have zero interest in just about anything that everyone else finds so important. In many ways, the world is some kind of Big Empty for you where there is no longer anything to pursue or desire. You know there’s got to be something more but you have no idea which cabinet it’s located in. You’re not unhappy or troubled. You don’t feel disappointed or left behind. You’re pretty sure you have no idea where you are going and you deal with that by not going anywhere. Something was supposed to happen at some point but it hasn’t happened yet.
Sometimes you think there should be a reason for you to be apprehensive, uncertain, confused, something... but you’re not, even though there sometimes seems like there are good reasons that you should but you’ve got those invisible friends and they’ve been telling you the same thing for so long that by now you believe them without question, although you have yet to see any sign of promised event.
It’s a funny crowded world for everyone else. It certainly isn’t your world. It’s a world of pot bellies and clown cosmetics that melt like a bad wedding cake in some Houston community center. You tell yourself there are few things as unappealing as when one of these women begin to cry, except maybe the reason for the tears. Every now and then you realize the air is heavy with deodorants, colognes, after shave, perfume and god knows what else. You haven’t worn anything like that since you were a callow youth. People are eating suspicious sausages that could have just about anything in them. Their iceboxes are stuffed with processed foods that have unpronounceable ingredients which can run up to sixty five letters. You can’t imagine how they can eat that stuff but you do know what the long term effects are. You have never really understood ordinary porn, tit jobs, facelifts or any of that shit. You can’t figure out how something like that would actually turn anyone on. It’s totally geared toward dehumanization and a calculated insult to all of the finer and nobler possibilities of the human spirit, even though you haven’t seen any of that for a really long time
Sometimes you sit and wonder about people who become lawyers, politicians, just about any of the things people put such an investment in. You can’t figure out how any of it became so important to anyone. You can’t figure out how these people manage to take themselves so seriously. You’re amazed at their capacity to drink themselves senseless for such an extended period of time. It blows your mind that they could have been married multiple times and stitched up with alimony, festering resentments and disaffected progeny, with money games going on like it was some kind of a heroin habit. You can see then dressed out in a box at some point surrounded by people who didn’t like them but are now forced to search with great difficulty for something nice to say.
You’ve never met them but you know that there are people out there that sell munitions, who torture animals and people and others who are making unpleasant decisions about people and digging the power rush that comes with fucking up people’s lives just because they can. You really cannot understand how such a large body of people bought into so many impossible lies or barbaric religions that engage in so many terrible activities against their fellows. Something’s not right in Wonderland and it hasn’t been for a long time. You can’t understand how they are going to find their way out of all of this and you suspect that they won’t. How can they voluntarily condemn themselves to such guaranteed suffering over such massive tracts of time? It’s a mystery is what it is.
'Build Me a Castle' is track no. 2 of 10 on Visible's eponymous
'Les Visible' Music Album
Lyrics (pops up)