The calendar says another year has gone by. Time, time, time creeps up behind me like a gimp in the night orgy. It is a time of empires built on the backs of the weak. It is a time of need, a time of hunger and disparity, courage and creativity, perversion to purity and everything in between. So it goes.
"The white men watch the clocks, but the clocks watch the indians" - Tom Robbins
Everything is the same but a bit heavier, the images and words gather weight like kelp on driftwood in the sea. Words to try and break free, words to try and pin down what went wrong, words like "addiction" and "divorce", "responsibity", "held in", and "Muppet sex" knaw the edges of my conscious, distracting me from the television and making my vegan dinner taste like liver. Images of tears and torn wallpaper, images of old men exposing themselves in the streets and vomit on the floors of Subway bathrooms. Images of an older face in the mirror, younger faces on the television, a planet moving like a sped-up video. So it goes.
This year I will value what I have. Most friendships have a limited duration. There are friends I once had who I have lost to circumstance and death and distance and differences, and the back of my mind creates questions I wish I would have asked them, experiences I wish I would have shared with them in the long hours when it does not want to sleep. This year I will appreciate the friends I have, ask the things I would wish, and do the things I would do with them while they last. If all goes well I will take ayahusca with Z on a bright moon night, record a movie with Milos and visit Satan in his distant refuge for a painting session. How about you?
To you I say, this year be strong. Ride forth to battle with the world this year, my friend, with your wit like a light saber and your trusty towel handy. Kick time's ass just to bring back a story. Godspeed my friend, my lover, my confidant, muse and will, white light on a dark plane. Whisper the night and I will hear.
"I want to fly without the machinery of wings. I can almost see it when I look down and the road is shining from broken glass, or from rain." - Elao the poet, friend, and lover, missing on a lost stretch of Oklahoma highway, probably devoured by cannibals. So it goes. |
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