When there is no beginning and no end, as there was, is, and will be, where does the time go to get credit for dues paid off? Does it ever double down to sweeten the pot? When do late fees stop kicking in stalls? Are hands ever wiped clean? Under what sticky table employing how many greased palms? Paid doctors just say no.
I asked, “May I pull my pants up now?’
I heard, “Hold on.”
Technically, what I was waiting to hear was, “It will all work out for the best, no harm, no foul, tra-la-la.” Then I could stick out my tongue and boo as if I was bitter in Philly because I know better. Unless that was an ooh-bla-dee-ooh-bla-da. Then I might ask with a sneer, “Under what rock does that insect dwell?” The right proportions of horseshit and hay make a potent stink bomb.
Instead, I squeezed and I held on tight. The footing underneath was coming loose. I began to experience deja vu in the same vein as a transparent yo-yo. It is possible that I squeezed too hard but in that I felt confident I was not alone.
I said, “Sometimes I hear something pop.”
I heard, “It’s only that you squeezed too hard.”
Two generations back, and two forward, about one hundred years give and/or take, mostly take according to most evidence, is about as much substance as human tissue can absorb without blowing loads of smoke into deep holes resembling vacuous pits. That’s where the need to push placenta prematurely masquerades as a good reason why. Don’t ask, don’t tell, why not? The blown smoke furls with burning crosses, sacred battles, rebel yells, scabby knees, singed flags with persistent stench. These are sacraments of many of the same soon to be extinct humans who claim to be the smartest creatures ever, much like the claims of other outstanding dodos such as dinosaurs, lemmings, selected snakes, orangs, chimps, and Jack Russell terriers.
From where I stand at loose ends on the shaky edge of western civilization, astride the San Andreas Fault that continues to wobble beneath mighty sandstone cliffs, the beige tide is shaped like a bowed arrow, coming in fast and furious with major intent to kick some puny ass. It appears to be ripped like a pimply weightlifter sucking down a savage cocktail from a tin can, warmed over downers and remixed steroids with low-cal foam. Unsightly pimples like that are apt to pop without notice. Watch out for oily residue when diving shallow. Plastic kites have been known to fly off with lank bodies tailing behind. Do you really want to marry one of those? You’ve been amply forewarned.
All of the worldly possessions including but not limited to people, places, and things that have been piling up and left teetering on this edge of western civilization are no match for the next swollen wave. Four stumpy legs on a rickety wharf are insufficient support for a vintage pinball machine primed to tilt. Necessity will not wane. Dimes in slots won’t stop the balls rolling. Commands will not respond to prompts. Once steely wills intent on conquest will bow down like petunias, the pansies.
A tide that presents symptomatically like that according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition, Text Revision (DSMV -IV-TR) has been diagnosed to react forcefully to a cocktail of boiling crabs, daily lithium, and diazepam with depakote as needed. More is generally better. If nothing else, the ass kicked will be the most fragrant ever.
“How many ways do you look before crossing?”
“How many are there?”
“Aha, just as I thought.”
Flat container ships stacked with rectangles have been observed floundering at sea in this tide. Desirable berths on parched land are more or less filled. The waiting takes a toll on roiling hemorrhoidal heartache. Rectangles stubbornly refuse to genuflect and wave. Scabby hinged knees acquired in stiff religious poses exude rancid pus that proves to be no less stubborn. No biggie, though. The ships are unarmed yet booby trapped. Live wires are triggered by stray illuminating thoughts to go boom. Contradictions, per norms, abound.
I was expecting to jump off of this rolling big ball with sound mind intact before the big picture came too close for my myopia to ignore. I felt strongly as if that remained true for all time even though my expectations have been cited as mass murderers in previous lives. But those flat ships were virtually flying. A lovely just dessert was being served on the upper deck. Creamy froth with vanilla topping, whipped. The prognosis for continued paralysis was unparalleled. Luckily, the soft sand broke my fall.
“Does that mean categorically that the forecast for a gooey upward spiral is going to melt dry ice? Dry up cesspools? Make a dent? Propel explosives?”
“Well, yeah, like…duh.”
“How can I be absolutely sure?”
“Touch and feel it.”