The only thing keeping us from transforming is fear.
The only wind on our backs is a midnight zephyr, pushing us west, into the Pacific Ocean.
The church bells are ringing but I’m sleeping in. Tomorrow is Monday, the day all our dreams are destroyed. I’m marked by a striped shirt and a tie. Today we can pretend that our jobs don’t exist and everything is fine as long as we stay buried in these blankets.
The flowers by the bed were picked by me on my way home from the bar, my 2am rambling leaving behind decapitated flower stems. I sang your name when I rang your bell. You weren’t amused but you let me in anyway.
Have you ever reached towards someone only to realize they weren’t there?
I’m frying chicken and listening to pop songs on my computer. Someone is knocking on my neighbor’s door. When you stop and contemplate your movements — washing your hands in the sink, picking up the phone, frying a piece of chicken — you wonder how being human could be anything special at all. But it’s in this act of remembering the moment, of being one with whatever it is you’re doing, the simpler the better, that you can realize your humanity.
I’m frying chicken.
You’re on the floor doing Pilates.
Jimmy is driving his truck on Mulholland again.
Sarah has her paints in her lap and the door wide open.
The only thing keeping us from laughing is our crying…
The only escalator to heaven is broken. Has been since Galileo.
People are moving around the neighborhood, trading apartments. These buildings don’t change, just their occupants. I am the Emperor of this Ant Empire. Tonight I strolled down Fairfax and observed the comings and goings of my subjects, minding my own business, a stranger to even myself. Everybody is busily headed everywhere… I’m content to stand in my kitchen and cook chicken, music keeping me company.
A song I recognize from a past life churns up in the shuffle lottery. I listen to it while plating my chicken and scooping my rice. It reminds me of a time before I got old. I consider singing along but remember that these walls tell lies and instead pour a glass of Australian Syrah, reflecting on the grape’s journey from the vine to my glass with a freakish zeal.
Do you ever take the long way? Have you ever lost yourself in the act of going that you forgot where it was you were going?
Power lines connect us all…
I sit down to eat. A ghetto bird flies by, its spotlight floating back and forth over the Spanish tile roofs of the ‘hood. My phone buzzes, oscillates across the table and then drops to the floor. Right now everything couldn’t feel more right.
I turn on the TV, avoiding the news. I don’t care anymore. I’m not afraid to admit it. I look for something mindless and find it within seconds. On MTV they’re showing some poor schlub sitting around his girlfriend’s living room with her parents, watching his girlfriend out on a date with some popped-collar dude with a spray-on tan. I miss the music. I turn to an expose on the founding fathers, asking the question, ‘were working for the Freemasons?’… on the History Chanel. On Animal Planet, they’re exploring the dietary habits of Sasquatch, and after the commercial break they’re going to discuss the Abominable Snowman’s. Is anything real anymore?
The only thing keeping us from setting our souls free is the inability to locate them in the first place.