Tuesday, 26 April 2011
-
Adventures in Hyperspace
http://monkeearmada.tumblr.com/post/4850491922#notesI enter the revolving room, I repeat the number; NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5, NUMBER 5
My head opens, my eyes are closed. Time travel is difficult but not impossible. I hear the soft murmur of lost voices. Transition to the 4th dimension is hardest. Dimension’s 5-7 are a breeze, I repeat the mantra. We are not alone, we are not we, we are us, there are infinite versions of you and I in this place that isn’t a place. There is only one real prison and that is time, but every prison can be broken out of. Every jail can be escaped from.
Moving in light, talking to myself about myself, crossroads, primer, bricks and mortar, it gets confusing, the smell of powder burnt in the temple at Kanchanaburi, the red painted faces of beautiful lady/boys. Some more smoke a whiff of the good stuff and I’m back in New York looking at a mirror the wrong way. Mountains of snow, youthful dreams, I end up in a sticky situation. Its morning in America, I wipe the sweat from my brow, repeat the number 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, scream my mother’s last name. Pranayama.
Like an out of work wrestler, I’m stuck in this business for life. I look at my weapon in my hand. I wear it well, as Rod Stewart would say. It doesn’t feel right though. I wish I would have ended up a desk jockey, living breathing, going home to my wife and kids, this is no life for anyone, but it is my life. I check the schedule again; my bus should be here soon. I watch the fat mothers struggle with their hyper active children. A drug addled teen thinks I’m a cop; he tries to distract himself at a video game machine. If he only knew the real cop was the guy he’s been chatting it up with on the entire first leg, trading stories about the time when they were soooooo fucked up! I take my hat off for a second. Wipe the greasy sweat from the white cloth that surrounds the rim. I think about how good I would be at writing Law and Order .
Thursday 1989
Foaming AT THE MOUTH I APPROACH THE TABLE, THE Dj smiles and nods, he gives me a thumb up and I fall to the floor. In my mind of course, in reality I keep dancing. I make out with 4 women that night. Drums still beat in my ear. Its dawn and a kid in a track suit twice his age drops a bag of pills in my hand. Gotta-make-that-money. A time-travelers work is never done. Tested and tested again I am numb, I am blind, smell, sound, touch, are my guides. I’m four years old again sitting at the kitchen table drawing pictures of monsters. I’m waiting on the meatballs. Then there’s booze in front of me. I don’t know what day it is or what time, and I don’t care. I reach for a hat on my head, but it isn’t there.
It’s Russia 2010 an empty country road sometime before dawn. A few simple young men are out in a stolen car having a little fun, with a girl far too young to be that drunk and a video camera. I stop them with a cheap Japanese sword I picked up in Tokyo 500 years ago. The Future is mutable; it changes on the head of a pin. The colors are vivid when you forge a new path, when you section off a piece of time and move inside of it you could end up in a million different worlds. Most people who live will never know what it’s like, it happens to everyone, but most don’t notice. Behind the curtain the truth of the universe is revealed I repeat the damn number.
----------------
Now playing: William Shatner - Common People
via FoxyTunes
-
recommend
- recs 0
-
email
- sent 0
- like
Post a Comment