It never did rain and so it never cooled and so it is hot and my walk was a blink, an exercise in removing my mind from my body, step, step, step. I think if you cut my head off, I'd be like a chicken and I'd keep moving, walking, my muscles completely capable of going it alone.
It's as green as the Emerald City here, it's buzzy with crickets, it's a symphony of them, all parts being played to cosmic perfection, the soaring choral parts, the percussion steady and true, rising, falling, and who directs this orchestra? Who stands on the podium, arms outstretched, and how far across the land do the musicians play?
Well, I guess the sun is the conductor and the heat although it almost seems as if the heat is part of it, or rather, that the buzzing, soaring is part of the heat.
No. I'm not making sense. I'm not in a sense-making place.
I want to be by the water.
I want to be completely mindless or is it mind-full? I don't know but I want my mind to be empty of anything but sky and water. That's all. I'm sick of the news and drones and the NSA and what some fucking laptop celebrity thinks of another and I'm sickened by all the effects of global warming and I know in my gut this planet is not going to survive as we know it unless something is done immediately to reverse that course and that's not going to happen.
What I am mostly sick of, of course, is myself and I get to this place fairly frequently.
I dreamed I was back in nursing school and I was filling out forms with my red pen, I was not sure where classes were to be held, I was living in a strange apartment which was dull brown and sad. Keith Richards drove by, the young Keith. He smiled at me sweetly with his bad, broken teeth from the top of the bus where he was riding, he went on by, I heard young girls begin to scream with celebripassion and its painful joy. I wondered if the bus would come back around the block. I hoped so.