No Shoes Required (1) “Tempestuous Thoughts Arise This Night” Whilst trapped in your home, during a blizzard, one should never read anything by Franz Kafka. The mere thought of it now makes the mood in the room change. This thought cannot be stressed enough. Sanity is questionable under ordinary circumstances, but provoked by the fragmentary genius of Franz; life is cellophane and it’s clearly visible, but does it hold as well or as long as the next leading brand of plastic wrap? Reynolds’, Reynolds’, I’ve been foiled (?) again. It’s the cling I tell you the cling, on? Jim, I’m only a doctor. How often does this man frequently remind me to take out the trash, the oil is on empty and now it has to be primed. All the way to Connecticut, did I travel, to see Tori Amos. Bless that woman with every possible charm. To know of any other genius in present flesh is unrealistic. Mountains and the canyons start to tremble and shake; children of the sun begin to wake, up the damn tide rose pedal my bicycle (I Just finger popped with that thought but you could not hear it, I was typing) chain, chain, chain—eeyane, eeyane, yane, of fools. Staggering to the door, I answer with a bourbon induced growl:” I call you killer ‘cause you slay me”. Witch is what everyone asks me, and I just don’t know why. Love, love, love; ooh my soul! And this beetle thing; if I were to wake up as a beetle, dear me here comes Franz; I would dearly hope not to be Paul. Such a sappy bastard, is he and oh what an ugleeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~ei wife. Billy shears and roebuck catalogs are now extinct. Sanctuary, soon in her you’ll find yes I do remember, just as the colonel said. This blizzard thing has become quite a nuisance forcing me to be content with a social Tea of sorts with Franz. You know he only drinks water. Continuously parched as I understand the measure of things by a rule of thumb depending on the size and manicure of the nail could vary greatly. Simply put, Aristophanes! You dastardly lead pencil pusher of contemporary art-matic eyeliner. Dare to look me in the eye, dark I asked for exclusively. I have been trying for several years to break into the recording industry with little or no success. Talent is not an issue here; just ask my ego. I think that I am destined to write lovely little tunes in my rented basement. Oh the humanity or humidity if it keeps at this percentage (98.6) I may not ever ruin my shoes. Always parched aren’t you. Well fluids are quite lascivious when used as directed; produced and written by Frank Baum; Poppies will make her sleep that’s why they put them on bagels. Blank is the expression on your face. What else could there be? With only the nothing-ness of your existence to emulate, blank is an over achievement, that is a positive thought, only for a moment... I should punctuate such a statement with greater flair (Rather pompously, I toss my hair, did you see it? I thought not. Too wrapped up in your self!). Gladly I’d wrap you in a sandwich bag, just please clean the sink, Capricorn fascist. The world does not revolve around you so kindly step off simian. The snow has ceased for the moment. My finger and I grow much taller than the tree in the yard with the man retired and so I’ve become without sleep, Good night. To say the least is not at all what any one person means when this phrase is spoken. How so many times does one wish it were true that the least had been said; when in actuality they are only giving themselves just reason for continuing on about their own personal, and trivial, opinions. Any time the phrase is used, be quite confident that the individual speaking really is saying, “May I continue as a piece of crushed glass in your eye?”. Anyway, The time is now with the setting as you would see fit and the elements of existence as persistent as time would be if one were to consider it; as I refuse to at this moment. Conscious one can claim to be, only to function on this machine (processor for those of you that are without a clue). Ever onward... A thin line ran the length of the opposing wall. Briefly committed to the analysis of this occurrence, I purposely debated the possibilities. This line is of no great importance other than it exists; and seems to have risen from nowhere. Am I presently experiencing some small miracle, possibly an actualization of that eternal unexplainable, creation? No, it’s only the light through the window blinds. Pitiful me; I’m always trying to discover the supernatural in the ever easily explained “natural-ness” of things. I’m not sure if it is completely my own fault but more likely my make that I am as so revealed. A fantastic dreamer and believer in all those things that are not so easily made to believe. Maybe a disease or some affliction is to blame. There is something called Munchausen disease, but I don’t think that is it. That would make matters much to easy to explain. As an island, it is said no man can exist. I do agree; if that’s as one chooses to be. Then again if the individual is cast off to be an island unto itself then its very existence is just that. Surrounded by an ocean of nothing I can only be something, and as we know nothing is still something of a very different sort, I am something else. Are you happy with that? Say yes and I’ll agree, say no and go join the ocean and by all means swallow yourself. Since you have made me an island, I shall be and continue with my wanderings, as is my business. Covet not my train of thought; it left the station an hour ago. Silent and smooth the train rolled on into the dry desert night. In the distance the moon raised its weary face into the night sky. A view many lovers would describe as magic and engage in the embraces only their own imagination could conceive. Tangled in the midst of the moment, a torrid wash of relentless passion tears through the sweet sanctuary of the moment. The lovers stop for they notice that they do not have any shoes on their feet. Standing in the cool desert night, enveloped in the rages of unbridled passion, with no shoes? They ponder the situation openly with each other, discussing the fact that without shoes they couldn’t have walked into the desert without sustaining some sort of injury to either of their feet. After checking each others feet, and finding them completely without injury-of even the slightest abrasion— they entertain the notion that if they are without shoes and are also free of injury to their feet, than they could not have possibly walked into the desert. The lovers, presently extinguished, come to the conclusion that if they did not walk into the desert, than they are not in the desert, and therefore if they are not in the desert, they are not in the heat of passion and also not in love. With a few unkind words to each other they both turn in opposite directions and wander off into the distance not ever once remembering that they left their shoes on the train, which left an hour ago, as not to ruin them with sand. Amazing powers can be conveyed by the corporeal that easily over power the spiritual in every day existence. So very often does one dissolve all hopes and aspirations of the spiritual kind for any amount of material power and wealth, strong status amongst the populace becomes the driving force in life at any cost. Toil and pain are the every day requirements of a proper existence in our illustrious society. Allegedly this is accepted accordingly by way of the biblical ideal of original sin. Well to take the blame for an act or event that occurred in the most prehistoric of times is like taking the blame from all women because Julius Caesar didn’t put the toilet seat back down countless years ago. I know they didn’t have toilet seats in the days of the Roman Empire, but you get the point. How steady is the hand that shakes when adjusted to the varying heights of presentation. The small underlying speck of selflessness can easily creep into ones grip when embraced. Can you touch a hand free from aggression or completely intense without trying to best or fall to submission? Either way you would easily reach into yourself to find the one material you possess to compliment your inferiority. Will you ever learn to smile as a soul alive, instead of a corpse trying to live? If there is no paradise when you’re through and all your death bed penance is received from a man in a collar, who has no right to grant you absolution from all the selfish, unjust and maliciously depraved ideas and actions of your existence, is just a mouse forever sliding into door ways and creases trying to elude the ever present reality of his own selflessness; could you live again as you did? They burned the wrong ones. There are more popes in the Christian hell than there are witches. Material power can only be achieved by way of sin in the realm of Christendom, and I don’t think there were any rich witches but plenty of wealth among the church’s hierarchy. Take away the idea of paradise after life and instill the thought of paradise, as you live daily; maybe this life would be just that instead of the droning dirge that it is. Paint me pagan red because Christian white doesn’t come clean in the wash. Speaking as a second language is more like the after effect of a powerful narcotic than a functional communicative device. How often is speech misunderstood from its initial phrasing to its final pronunciation? We do not understand a certain dialect or accent and it becomes the basis for a veritable “round robin” of harassment, which is quite peculiar if one considers that in order to mock or ridicule someone’s speech, we must also speak. Hypocritical I’d say; but then again as I do am I not also speaking and in so doing mocking the speech in which I use. A truly never ending cycle these Harley Davidson’s. Chrome the likes of which you have never seen. Blinding to the eyes and smooth to the touch. Sacred. The thighs appeared inseparable until the kiss; the idea was a flash in the June night sky. July didn’t have a chance, for it was May that moved me before and then there was nothing left to do but talk. Infinite chatter rising above the din of the new found day. Could there be anything to this moment than speaking words with good intentions and solemn vows filled with shallow meaning. Who could mock those lips one searches sometimes lifetimes to discover if they were to speak in a rather unorthodox manner. Perturbed by this thought one writes endless letters in the sand with constant reminder from the rising tide that they will exist eventually only in memory; so be quick with your reasoning and swift your decision to kiss the one you pull near and press your finger into the soft of your own soul and promise to smile upon the farewell of your lover and say nothing that may be left for another to mock. A sea urchin rolled with currents of the ocean floor, undecided and seemingly unaware of its final resting place. Tempered, spines of salvation languidly revealing themselves to any predator honest enough in its intentions to approach. Without eyes to see its feelings so touched by the thought of another’s wish to devour. How lonely this bed of sand is to one that longs to be held but knows the impossibility of the act. To have the adoration of another in some other way than of the gastronomical is of the utmost importance. My defenses I’d gladly retract for the ability to be held. The ocean floor shifted under the many influences of the moon governed tide and allowed the small urchin to rest in the net of a commercial fisherman, decidedly so the resulting love desired is quite digestible. Spine tingling… Walking in two different directions, a flash of light; a wondrously imperial thought, “on the train, they were left on the train!!!” Love it truly was, the thrill is gone and oh the H-U-M--A-N-I-T-Y! I do like porridge but not the family; Kincaid was an ass.
Copyright © 2001 Anthony Dean Capotosto |