Overdose
In which our narrator really overdoes
it.
Oh man oh man oh man am i gonna have a panic
attack a heart attack a seizure are the lights getting all fuzzy what is this
fire in my chest it feels so overwhelming or maybe the tibetan tohnkas coming to
the fore knocking around in my head and giving me a drive to ESCAPE to burst the
protoplasmic sack and escape in gnostic freedom into something unconstrained
uncontained unbounded like Masha said in her email yesterday where she was
lusting to become containerless and i said hey baby it may be a container but
it's also the vehicle of evolution no container no capacity to accept the slings
and arrows of life's fortunes which smooth the stone and make more perfect the
square that's Duncan's ritual all out there in the open but she's missing serge
and wants to join him in his busted bus dead heaven and hey who am i to stop her
she who is pope and who has spoken to the aliens in her ayahuasca tourism who
knows that tomorrow won't be terribly different from today unless she is somehow
utterly changed and perhaps that final consummation is devoutly to be wished but
here it is safe in my safe island home they sound different but feel profoundly
the same just as alienated as alienating and when i find myself gabbing away
with a roomful of north americans as has happened once or twice in the past week
i begin to understand the lure of the voice, of the power of talking to someone
who has a fundamental understanding of home or so they announce with every word
they speak but well things are calming down now perhaps the train ride home or
the Wilco ghost is born or perhaps because the drugs are finally wearing off as
we cross the Paramatta and the sunset hides behind a huge cloud bank and i
think, hey, maybe rain and maybe the drought will stop and i'll imagine that it
will be alright to stay that i haven't arrived in a land just about to die but
how different really is it than california with its lowest rainfalls in a
hundred years and perhaps those last hundred were a blip an aberration amidst a
longer cycle of pure and uninterrupted drought which is a chilling thought
because then neither of my adopted homes has any future and there is no going
backward no way to crawl back into the womb as suggested by that piece at the
MCA a man crawling through a tight slit of carpet into the space between floor
below and carpet above all snug and kicking free and it's better yes i don't
feel as though death is necessarily imminent but i promise myself again yet
again that i will not do this to myself again that this is more than i ever
asked for even as i tempted fate and somehow called for the worst to happen but
didn't really remember for whatever reason that if i play with fire i get burned
and for god's sakes man you're already burning brighter than a thousand stars so
you really need to pour gasoline on
that?
Man - I've
gotta
stop drinking coffee.
Posted: Wed - June 23, 2004 at 04:37 PM