Something big was finally busting loose. Not the biblical big one on the underfoot San Andreas Fault, nor the bigger one overdue on the adjacent Hayward segment of the contiguous Calaveras Fault, but close enough to shake, rattle, and roll a bunch of longitudes and latitudes that were idling roughly nearby. The edge of western civilization had been crumbling for quite some time beneath me in the Santa Cruz Mountains, no biggie once it becomes routine, but this was special. If ancient memory selectively serves me, which it does, like duh, here and now is all that exists, and not for the first time. Am I right or am I right? Dig it while while it’s happening and hold on tight.
Though it was no less difficult than usual to determine what was what, while attempting to ignore the depth from which it derived, disdain how it duly appeared, and dispatch the dreaded reasons why, the kinetic energy that hit me in waves defied standard measurements, perhaps a real sign of sorts, although this had never been an issue about questionable real time, like duh. Nor an issue for tubby statisticians squeezed into ergonomic office chairs with advanced lubricated wheels. No stinking proof required.
I was not only shaken into consciousness from an unsettled reverie by the rocking, but I was caught unaware while still gnashing my teeth. An oblong black ball was lost on a creaking deck, rolling. A thought balloon popped up and cut loose with a whoosh of fetid air. No one accountable was present to hear me bleat for lost blue blood. My bed of straw felt vacant in the absence of a nominal straw man. Any internecine argument in politics, religion, economics, or psychology needs fetid air to maintain entrenchment. Where did that leave me to get off? I reached for a center that shifted with a limb that was singed. Unless that was closer to charred. Or was that belated bleat a whinny? The heat was enough to feel at a vast distance on a flat horizon that flashed like a silver stripper doing wheelies in sparkly high heels, screaming in virtuality, “Catch me if you can.”.
When it is a humpback whale who appears to be light taupe, unless he more accurately represents dark ecru on the eternal color wheel, and who is visibly rising from a depth of more than five thousand feet to deliver the good news, give or take, you know it’s just got to be not only big, like duh, but real enough to really feel. Real feelings are like that. Feelings as such don’t have to make a lot of sense. Nor does real news anymore. It is what it is. Real good is bad and bad is what’s happening. James Brown said it first. Along with Elmore Leonard. The real non-virtual depth from which the whale ascended was deeper than the Grand Canyon. Real continues to be where it’s at according to vast numbers of respected mental health professionals in most contiguous states. At times, there may have been questions. I’m not arguing, just saying. No need to wage any internecine war against real good sense.
To my untrained and naked eye, the humpback whale was appearing to be exceptionally light taupe in the silver light that morning, with only the narrowest tinge of dark ecru. He had returned to Monterey Bay after a few days of frolic at the newest bubbling hot spot centered 2021 nautical miles west of the edge of western civilization, where romping routinely occurred nightly in the whirling vortex. No wonder there were so many excitable new trends that were busting loose and popping out all over.
It was no secret to the government that I had been preparing for this important close encounter since at least the most recent continuum between what is colloquially referred to as last year, and the so-called nominal present, after my latest unjust sentence for stalking whales had been temporarily suspended in the Municipal Court of Santa Cruz County, which as I continue to repeat, repeat, repeat in a multiverse with no beginning and no end, is all that exists.
Secret agents of the government had been spying on my whereabouts at every clandestine opportunity. Whenever my boat left the Santa Cruz Harbor in search of the humpback whale, the scent of a stinking spy was nearby. But, I never let on that I knew. Or what I smelled. Nor what obstacles remained in front of or behind me in this so-called national marine sanctuary. Name any fucking government that hands out unjust sentences that impinge upon individual freedom willy-nilly, any single overblown government that comes to mind, or groups of underhanded governments in cahoots, and they have been resolutely spying. The scent is reminiscent of dying anchovies, tons of them. Ask any tubby statistician still rolling on lubricated wheels for some decent odds. I’ll betcha.
I had been training rigorously for this convergence, which as we all know, like duh, when in defense of liberty is no vice, because I needed to express my many sincere apologies to the humpback whale, and not only for so-called past transgressions due to an understandable lapse into symptoms of over-exuberance, which even if no longer exist, and are unlikely to repeat, repeat, repeat, bother me still, mostly at night while rattling and rolling.
I owed a sincere apology for the mindless rebellion of my youth, sucking hard on sugar and petroleum byproducts, revving my overblown engine, getting nowhere fast. I owed a sincere apology for the fat I burned and the minerals I consumed like a glutton while groveling so hard in the dirt, digging for buried treasure, hauling obscene loads, burying the evidence in toxic pits left to percolate below. Most of all I owed a sincere apology to the Creators of my ill-begotten kind, the original whales who started the pea brains sprouting eons ago, who only wanted a new series of cartoon characters to enjoy for fun and games, a bit of harmless viewing pleasure on sultry nights, unaware that their mutations would come back to wreak untold slaughter and revenge, much like the robotic spawn of humans are about to do the same. Ain’t it funny how those darn contradictions, the second most basic building block of the multiverse, just can’t be beat?
Of course, we all know that as much as sincere apologies might be due, nothing of the kind was about to be forthcoming, not from me most of all, not while I was so wrapped up in feeling so sorry for the injustices perpetrated against, not by me. I was too comfortable here and now in my vibrating recliner to rise up. I just wanted to make that clear to the humpback whale. I had my speech all neatly prepared. Lots of words in the past tense fit together quite attractively to deny meaningful change in the future. None of it was, is, or will be my fault, not really, not ever. I know if given just one more chance I can sincerely explain, explain, explain like a speed denier, as well as justify, justify, justify like a whirling demon, even if many of those the big words do sound an awfully lot like a comedic version of blah, blah, blah.