A wily web spinning madman, consciousness.
When traveling, what the mind is always doing sometimes becomes more pronounced. What my mind anyway is always doing is getting set. Here comes this experience-- it will look and feel like this-- so get ready. And the way my mind tries to get ready is by telling stories. This upcoming experience will happen in this time and this place. This will all be this way, will be this way, will be this way, will be this way. Here is what I will say. Here is what the other people will say. Here is what will happen. Here is how I will react to what will happen. Spinning out, spiraling from whatever is going on right here, webs you would think were pretty flimsy since they are all imagined and conjured out of the pallid nonsense of remembered (and misremembered) past experience, yet of course these webs often have the tensile strength of two ton test.
Because then when we are in the experience it is unrelentingly what it is and whatever weird imaginings we carried with us usually don't even resonate. Or show up in translated forms. Or even are all too real. The most dangerous moments for me are not when I am delusional within a reality that is trying to tell me something outside my delusion. The most dangerous moments are when what's happening seems to match my delusion note for note.
Anyway all this is to say that my rental car broke down.
The glorious spaceship-like floating Prius that only used 35 gallons of gas to get from Phoenix to Piscataway suddenly would not reliably go into drive. This is disturbing. I was on like a 30% grade (okay okay, in the tradition of the tall tale, probably an 8% grade) with a car behind mine when it first happened. The opening came to pull into traffic and I took my foot off the brake and pressed the gas and the car started going backwards. Nice. What was even weirder is that the car would *occasionally* go into drive. Whenever it pleased the car. Not necessarily when it was a good idea.
And so I waited on the side of a weird suburban street in Piscataway, about 2 miles from the house where I lived from age 6 months to 5 years. I called the rental car roadside assistance and they said "Oh, no problem, we'll send someone right away." I waited 2.5 hours. Finally, an unhappy young guy named Cristian showed up, and the first thing he told me was "I've been on shift since 6 am man, I wasn't supposed to get any more calls. Sorry it took a while." Usually this kind of thing is bad.
But Cristian ended up being an angel.
However, as is only fitting for the general theme of this segment of Percy's inner and outer journey, a much to be desired and unexpected and unplanned sudden visitation has arisen, so the rest of the story will have to wait.
Here's a nice picture of some more green woods:
hmmm. Like a cosmic joke, no picture, because for some reason, Blogger is not letting me upload any. So that what I thought would happen as it has always happened for months on end did not. Go figure.
This, in response to "the way my mind gets ready is by telling stories":
ReplyDeleteEvery great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order. We are all great stories.
Chapter 389, the boy ,still hair long and fingers too short. is 98 years old. Sits at the restaurant alone.
The stranger next to him is eating something that looks vaguely delicious.
The boy takes his fork, sticks it in his meal and takes a bite.
He says “I’m 98 years old, go ahead say something… asshole.”
Chapter 14, the boy is eight years old, he and his best friend come up with a great idea for a prank.
They are sure they will not get caught.
The next morning, every house on his street except his own has toilet paper on their front lawn.
They get caught.
Chapter 146, the boy and the girl live happily ever after
Chapter 231, the boy and the girl vow to never speak to each again
Every great story has a beginning middle and end. Not necessarily in that order.
We are all great stories, but not all written as chapter books.
I know, there are moments not meant to be bound.
That we scribble too much in the margins to read our own page numbers.
Like the nights you thought we were invincible.
Ran out into the lightening storm with a million keys
Tied to a million kites with a clench in your jaw that said “take me with you god damn it. I dare you”
In the weeks, when you finally reached out to feel your father’s cheeks and just found paper cuts.
I know the nights we shatter hourglasses to fall asleep.
In the afternoons, we take photographs of our own shadows just to prove that we left a mark.
I know the wetness of your lips.
Know that you are a leaf off the tree of your parents’ first kiss.
As you hold your shrubs to the sky you can see their veins there.
Know that in later chapters you will complain about how things were better back in your day
- give yourself lots to complain about.
Know; that your legs were made to run, your bones were made to heal, so let yourself
fall so deeply into somebody else you do not know which way is up
- knowing, that one day you may fall out, know exactly which way is down, call your mother, crying
like the first day you were born.
“Baby,” she will call you.
“Baby, it is okay. Every great story has a beginning, middle, and ending. Not necessarily in that order.”
Chapter 189, the boy too old now to celebrate his birthdays and too young to treasure them uses his fist to punch his own reflection to see if it’s real.
Breaks his hand into back into the opposite of a fist.
A conch shell city.
He holds it into his ear and can hears the ocean of his own bloodline.
“Stand up boy and not just with your legs”
You, be your own story. 600 words per minute.
You, glasses by age seven
You, never stop to read the back cover even if you know what happens in the end.
Chapter 431, once upon a time there was a boy, he’s not here any more.
But the branches that he left all holds the leaves to the sky
You can see the outlines of his shadow on the side walk
Chapter one, once upon a time there was a woman and a man.
The first night they kissed, a seedling blossomed on the back of her neck.
--Phil Kaye. "Every Story Has a Beginnning,
a Middle, and an End."