Posted tagged ‘Stream of Consciousness’

Fifty Five Word Anthology

February 10, 2011

~Number Nine

San Francisco’s macrobiotic community in 1969 had many divergent sub groups ranging from yin to double yang. At open house dinners around town, intravenous drug users were finding nourishment and hope alongside health addicts who had never so much as smoked a cigarette. I was still coming down from the CIA’s LSD experiment in 1965.

~Disgeneration

Our closed physical universe has been winding down since day one. Solar decline recently accelerated. We need a source of outside energy. Human consciousness must find it. That’s the purpose of intelligent life. We are the bridge uniting matter with spiritual energy. We knew this in the sixties. Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

~Big Bang Cools

The early universe was an opaque fog of diatomic hydrogen gas. As it expanded, temperatures declined and, with internal pressures dropping, gravitational collapse initiated star cluster formation. Stars radiated energy, stripping electrons, ionizing hydrogen atoms, clearing the fog: the universe became transparent. Our watery planet with sunny blue skies happened much later, strictly by chance.

~Many Rivers to Cross

The fertile earth, you can kick it, lick it, smell it, warmed by the heat of a fire that never goes out, not in a billion years, and by then terrestrial life will have already ended due to the planet’s surface becoming too hot for liquid water to exist, so be happy you’re here now.

~Stupiditās

We are hardwired for empathy, understanding, and communicating. Why have we failed to organize ourselves into a global society with a sustainable ecology? We need a unifying purpose which embraces our humanity while respecting our individuality; yet the intellectual force of the ruling class is focused on short term profits for the top one percent.

~Blues, Away

Low-skilled adults in a winner-take-all economy, homesteading the urban wilderness, rethinking assumptions without a master plan. The decaying city up for sale, commercial properties underwater, worth less than their mortgages. No buyers in sight. We may be stuck here with it. Things could get worse. And yet, how wonderful life is with you in the world.

~Women on Top

Today’s job market favors aggressive, educated women. They’re dominating the information age. My wife recently earned her bachelor’s degree. She’s been going to school at night after working all day in an office. I’m a stay at home dad. Boy am I sad, not! Keep her happy, that’s it. Kids take care of themselves: thanks Internet.

~Popular Economics

Volatile markets, a rapid bidding down, a specific sequence of events, not merely academic, without evidence of a deliberate attempt, beyond finger pointing: how could someone manipulate the markets, make off with a gazillion dollars, and avoid detection? Determined prosecutors are still searching reams of data, hundreds of transcripts, using meta-math developed by Harry Potter.

~Wee Party

Selfish, arrogant, and exclusive, yes, and greedy. You wanna tax my income? Try it. I’ll run you out of office. I want politicians who will beef up the border. Armed guards who will shoot to kill on sight. A strong military presence around the world to secure priority access to energy resources. God bless America.

~Piece of Mind

I’m earning top honors at the university, studying bling theory, all the observable forces necessary to make a relationship shine in the presence of internal penetration. Bling dynamics are governed by friction and kinetic energy, which combine to produce mutual oscillations. Even in a down job market, I can always find work as a gigolo.

~Z Boson with a Hardron

The night, when viewed in a mirror, violated all the laws of parity, symmetry, and conservation. Her response, strongly interactive, the flavor of strangeness, is the reversal of expected spatial axes. I can go macho, make the stars appear brighter. Or go wimp, become dark and evasive. She remembers the big bang. Hard to compete.

~A Stranger from Paradise

At midnight, flutes and drums, a traditional dance, her body moving rhythmically in sync with mine, the goddess of love in a blue velvet dress, no bra, pink panties: all phenomenon from the beginning to the end of time radiated outward from our union. Her happiness gave meaning to life then. Where is she now?

~A Fragmentary Vision

Flashing eyes and floating hair, a damsel with a dulcimer, an Abyssinian from Ethiopia, a reality never before achieved without the milk of paradise while living in a pleasure dome, a variety of actors singing and dancing, now buried beneath the shifting sands of time; yet the dream, the insanity, remains the same: the expectation of true love.

~Nineteenth Amendment

She clearly wasn’t a normal girl. At six her parents found her under a table with a book. They asked her to read aloud. She read so perfectly, they were shocked, since no one had taught her. The book she had selected from the shelves of the drawing room was a play about a prostitute.

~She’s Out

A woman falls in love with a man and then another man and then another woman. The two men fight and come close to killing each other. Until they finally realize she’s out of their reach. And there will never be another woman like her. Not for them.

~I heard the news today, oh boy!

You listened to Beatles music on the AM radio, the jukebox, watched them on TV, bought their records, played them loudly all day long. They filled your heart with joy, you said. But then they broke it. They were human, all too human, which you reluctantly recognized. I had never really liked them until then.

~Auld Lang Syne

I’ve been drunk every new year’s eve since 1956, with few exceptions. I should know better than to drink before driving these unfamiliar roads outside the city during a snow storm. And she could have warned me there were no gas stations or convenience stores out here. Where’s that goddamn cellphone when I need it?

~Bud Business? Booming!

You were in it for the money. Legalization would evaporate your profits and decentralize your control. A campaign of brutality became necessary to assure it never happened. The war on drugs allowed you, effectively, to play both sides against the middle. Then you became seriously ill and found pain relief with medical marijuana, home grown.

~Lucifer’s Farewell

You didn’t believe I could survive your wrath, fall from Heaven, traverse the void, arise from the burning lake, outplay the devil. You condemned me to Hell for all eternity. Yet I escaped. I became human through the power of love. I’ll die a natural death soon. Nobody knows who I am, not even you.

~Halfway to the Top

Twelve seasoned mountain warfare counter-terrorism army veterans with backpacks, carrying M4A1 carbines, wearing combat helmets, reach a semi-barren plateau halfway to the top of the Hindu Kush mountains, the sparsely populated center of world population, where they find themselves surrounded by numerous armed men who must be killed immediately. Why else would they be there?

~Private Security in 55 Words

He’s returning from close combat experience during special operations in mountain warfare near the northeast Afghanistan border. As a good soldier, he cannot and will not question his mission there. And, as a thinking individual, he knows better than to open the floodgates of speculation. But don’t you dare try to take away his guns.

~His Longest Day

He parachuted into Normandy on six June, forty four, to support the amphibious landing on Utah Beach. At the age of eighty nine, his heavily medicated eyes show a rare spark of interest when Red Buttons gets his parachute caught on a church spire, hangs there, pretends to be dead, avoids the fight below.

Creeper

January 14, 2011

This lady at work, she gave me a joint of weed to try, claimed she grew it herself, called it Purple Train Wreck. I saved it for the evening, planning to relax in my room, listen to music, read a book, practice the guitar. It burned real smooth, had a nice taste, but not much happening otherwise. Disappointed, I jumped in my jeep and headed for the bar.

Traffic was moving fast and furious, streets looked unfamiliar at night. The bar, when I finally found it, was noisy and crowded. People were giving me dirty looks. I started to cough, like I was coming down with something. I could feel it spreading throughout my body. I’m going to die, I thought. The immediacy of that possibility saturated my consciousness with anxieties. I needed a drink.

The bartender said he couldn’t serve me, said I was barred for starting a fight. You got the wrong guy, I told him, I don’t start fights. He said, look what you’re doing now, you’re starting an argument. No, I’m not starting an argument, I said, I’m just defending myself. He threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave peacefully. I told him to kiss my ass. I didn’t realize the bouncer was standing behind me until he wrapped a beefy arm around neck, and said, we don’t kiss ass here, buddy. Then he grabbed me by the ass and threw me out the back door. I had to climb over a large pile of smelly garbage bags to get out of the narrow alleyway behind the bar.

When I reached the parking lot, I found several cars blocking my jeep but I certainly wasn’t going back inside the bar looking for help. I could either take a cab home or spend the evening on foot in the neighborhood waiting for the parking lot to clear. It was a warm night so I decided to walk down to the next bar just a few blocks away.

Streetlamps were dim and far apart. All the storefronts lining the narrow street were dark as far as I could see except for the occasional bar. The street itself had two lanes of busy traffic with a parking lane on each side filled to capacity. Yet I seemed to be the lone pedestrian on the sidewalk.

I had gone a block and a half when a man and a woman came running at me from out of the darkness of a storefront alcove. The man held an empty wine bottle in the air, and said: “I’m gonna bust your motherfucking head wide open.” And I thought, if he was going to do it, he would have done it, not tell me about it. I assumed he was bluffing. She screamed: “We want money.”

I would have given them money if they had asked me for it. I would have invited them to dinner and drinks at the bar. I found them attractive, somehow, I couldn’t say why. He looked like a taller, aging, emaciated Charles Manson without the swastika on his forehead and she looked like a strung out teenage runaway from a Hollywood casting call: too perfect. How did they get together, I wondered.

A police cruiser stopped in the street and flashed a bright spotlight in our direction. The couple departed as quickly as they had arrived.

“What are you doing out there?” a police officer demanded, his voice amplified and broadcast through a speaker mounted on top of the police cruiser alongside the flashing lights.

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” I said: “I’m walking down the goddamned street. Why aren’t you chasing those muggers?”

“Get in the car,” the officer demanded: “Don’t make me come out there after you.”

They were holding up traffic. And, since I had done nothing for which I should fear being arrested, I climbed into the back seat. The doors locked with a loud thunk as the police cruiser began to slowly move up the street.

“Jesus! You’re reeking marijuana,” the officer in the driver’s seat said. The officer in the passenger seat turned, shinned his flashlight in my face, and said: “Don’t you know that’s against the law, sir? You look ripped. What have you been smoking?”

“Wait a minute,” I said: “I don’t get this. You’re letting those mugger get away but you’re hassling me for copping a buzz and walking down the street?”

“Don’t get smart with me,” the officer responded: “Nobody’s getting away with anything. We’re part of a dragnet operation in force tonight attempting to clean up this neighborhood. If you people would stop coming down here to cop your buzz, at the drug house and the whore house and the bar, and stop wandering the streets stoned out of your mind, that would make our job a whole lot easier.”

A voice deep inside my head told me to shut my mouth, these guys were just doing their job. I handed over my drivers license and showed several other pieces of ID from my wallet. As the officer entered my identification into their computer, a female dispatcher’s voice filled the cruiser’s interior with radio chatter. I had no idea what she was saying but the officers seemed concerned. After handing back my drivers license, the officer in the passenger seat, said: “We could hassle you, sir, if we wanted to, but we don’t. We’re not even going to search you this time. If there is a next time, we won’t be so forgiving. Go home. Stay out of trouble.” They dropped me where my jeep was parked. And then they hastily moved up the street through traffic with lights flashing and sirens wailing.

The parking lot had cleared. I jumped in my jeep, drove straight home, locked the door, sat in the dark, thinking: Why am I alive? Why here, alone in this old house, in this crumbling city? Where am I going in life? I’m too passive, too accepting, allowing things to just happen. I’m always looking backwards, trying to figure out what went wrong. I should be looking forward, getting ready for the future, with optimistic anticipation. When I closed my eyes, I felt myself floating weightlessly in a vast empty space. I saw a dim light on a far horizon coming closer, getting brighter. Then it hit me, like a train wreck.

Lover Come Back

April 21, 2010

“Hey, I write in my free time, with free software. I publish on a free blog site. And you want me to charge people to read it? In my dreams.”

“Free time? All you have is free time. And all you do is sit up there in your room alone, writing or staring at the computer screen, with your mind somewhere else. We don’t have a relationship anymore. And I’m leaving you, good-by.” 

I stood speechless, in a state of disbelief, as she walked out the door. Why did she do it? Things aren’t that bad, are they?

Yes, I spend a lot of my time alone: reading, studying, thinking, dreaming, wandering around in my imagination. But I’m not really alone. I’m in an eternal space where I sense the presence of an inspirational spirit, a Muse. She can’t be jealous of that, can she?

Now that she’s gone, I can’t get her out of my mind. Her scent is everwhere. I want to reach out and touch her. I can feel her breast brushing against my face, her firm nipples leading the way to my lips. Why do I think of that? There must be a reason. I wan’t her back.

Isn’t it strange how life works, especially intimate relationships. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I received a double whammy. When my lover left me, my muse followed her out the door.