Guitar solo, then out (spontaneous prose tryout #813)

Life itself suddenly hits and it feels like this totally endless guitar riff from some progressive rock band from the ‘70s maybe Pink Floyd or The Who and it makes me daydream of aircraft carriers, man because I’m thinking of old Cold War-era movies of those I dunno, say F-4 Phantoms taking off from automatic catapults somewhere in the Pacific and it’s so blue (never mind ‘em ruskies) you wish the plane would just plain ol’ get sidetracked from the rails and plunge deep into the ocean below- the perfect summer day back in High School, 11 o’clock in the morning, a Saturday by the pool maybe a barbecue too and everybody just came.

Here’s quoting from a Kurt Vonnegut novel once again- Busy, busy, busy- it’s Bokonism at its best and the universe seems so packed with its own grand designs for us, all grander than fire and the sun off your wet skin but I’m at such a loss with the metaphor because I’ve never seen your skin wet in the summer, under the sun, and I’m chalking it up to yet another one of those things that might’ve been perfect before Life cut in and as paradoxically as it sounds here’s that very same Life at it again but this time it’s like this amazing outflow of sheer momentum which keeps pushing me forward not walking but running a thousand miles in any given direction, riding shotgun with God himself and both of us have our arms up and we’re both shouting Go go go, ya babes! like we’re in some Kali Yuga roller coaster breaking free from the bellybutton of Creation towards higher skies.

Tomorrow beckons & eternity beckons, I’m thinking. It changes so much oh God it changes everything and I could never ever really imagine that one could be so utterly free, without a place in the world, with no direction home, because I’m here right now and I’m free-falling everywhere at once, man and ‘em girls are sooo good-looking I just wanna glide down the highway going nowhere special with my eyes closed under pitch-black UV-coated sunglasses just sitting back, and relaxing, either but or because I’m so goddamn tired of being this empty on the inside and I want to go home…

“Tricky bit is, son,” says God, “You don’t get to go home and you don’t get to live your life like everybody does with theirs. It’s all part of the deal.”
“Hey man I’m like, bummed out with this whole thing you know,” I tell him, not very eloquently.
He nods without smiling and says nothing, making sure the point is moot.

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Off to visit two or three or our Southern agencies + back here in 2 weeks tops.