SALVAGE

This is what’s left, with no selvage edges… I’ve been a cat on the bias; warp-n-weft Me flows any which way she wants and loves it. I have weight, and swing with interest, somewhat patterned. Oh, the password-learning curve, brain-training under protest – shall we see the banners: Stop the race! Memory needs Mentors! How many gigabytes in a Brain to keep the head upright in a rampaging century?

I’m lightweight, pushing a trolley, legs wishing they had more power, power to say Fuck off, take me home to the lolling around in warm comfort where everything can be reached in a matter of inches. And this last day is grey, dampish with a difference only in how much its number-change affects data, and our minds. Could I be someone else tomorrow? I now have enough food & wherewithal to keep me inside for at least another week. But I could haul myself out on that first day down to the wind to watch the year be a promise of difference. My next café coffee could be at my beach just one block down, one leap for a new me.

Before conspiracy spam there was the possibility of part-truths, observed actions reported, and even with some misappropriation, we could assume a thing was said, had happened, had certain consequences. Now it’s all impossible unless you were an actual witness. We are in a matrix – though no one knows which one, how many there are or who, if any, runs the monopoly. Imagine five or ten continents, each trying to eat/consume the others… and the human life-term, condition and conflictive habits, then it’s back to basic life to forget, multiply and find a hold on the landscape.

Preparation-space; a clear table, its centre calling for bowls of whatsit; let’s nibble and talk all night. Neil Young in the air, a harvest moon and I’m reeling into the past – he fills such a span. There must be a bridge to carry you into other worlds. Strike the wand, make sparks, look deeper into books but take time; swallow it like a pill on a desperate sleepless night where dreams kidnap sense; there is a life even there. In the distance clouds stand shocked at smoke clouding their space as if war has no business interfering in planetary affairs. People shouldn’t be significant, are part of the furniture… whose actions are pestilential in this time.