Apr 12, 2011

Tuesday Evening

It's not that I don't know what to say
it's just that there are too many options and too many
rules and a truckload of misaligned shit that has to saddle
up with it and keep it all together while moving it
forward in such a direction that is progress, if not entirely linear.
Most of my life I've been very confused. The amount of time that
I've spent confused is equal to the cold strangeness of hunting
very small animals. I know most of us know what I mean. We
know the feeling of stalking through a field
in an olive green hunting cap, with rust-colored boots, and
flannel trim on our gloves. We all know the buttery rush of memory
and the half second of Death springing into the wounded torso
of some furry little situation of small animalness.
Who has not yelled to the gods? Who hasn't screamed to a million
unseen fences and tossed rings over hundreds of human heads?
Everyone has these same messy nightmares, except
some people don't know it. I'm of the type who is confused and messy
myself. All some small animal situation myself. You know how
this goes back. Before long, you're consulting your mother
about your uncle who is a tall gentleman with a wide, brown mustache.
It gets gone almost before you even get there. It's like you
wouldn't notice but you do. In that position, you wake, put on your
clothes and reach into open air. By constantly changing the
empty space around you, you feel like a rich man for micro seconds,
and that's good enough, or, say, sorta.