reveling in my redundancy. setting up a tent indoors, checking for all the right parts. yeah, i got all the right pieces, all the right parts. got all the poles'n pegs'n a bottle'o vino to boot. celebrating my second to last night on this freaking rock. got me some tunes in the distance, floating to and fro like the rusty little boats in the harbor, the ones with all the ladies' names painted on their sides. yeah, i've got this verse painted on me too, couldn't shake it with the salt if i tried...try as i might, my lines do not follow your curves, where ignorance is bliss. you see, ignorance excludes the in between. too bad the "in between" is all there is, for me...campbell said that the poets and artist were the only ones we had left who could bring us to the threshold of awe-inspiration. they are the ones who can bring us to the brink of transparency to transcendence; they catch us unawares and get us past the bullshit of our daily existence, if you will, because they speak the language embodying unabashed truth...a striped pussycat tramped in, literally, just a moment ago. i mustered up all the energy that was in me to create a raucous sufficient enough to scare her away without breaking the rhythm of my keys. back to reveling in my redundancy: i wish that our little bubble could float on forever, but it's destined to shroud passersby with shrapnel along the way if i don't pop it first.
