Saturday, July 4, 2015

Journal 76 - Buzzing Voices and Bladder Ruled Thoughts

Voices are like busy buzzing bees buzzing their cute
buzz words around my slish-slosh ear. My ear is
distracted by these tattooed words like a ship tossing
about in the ocean on a full moon at medium tide. Words
come slovenly to the thoughtful minds of the drunk at
the nearest Irish bar. They've left their minds under
the oil-can of their rusted car, lost in a neighborhood
wanting localized context, like a man glued to his
phone at the meetings at the office and the bar. It's the
experience of getting the tattoo not the tattoo itself -
tattoos are words that you can never recant no mater
the depth of regret. The pain and significance brings meaning
and uncovers the thought that mattered most at the time.
The tattoo is the permanent timeline of the life you lived
and the regret means nothing except that the idea is
something you once loved. The skin changes and renews
but tattooed ideas persist like roaches and mosquitoes.
I forgot to mention that the blimp is the hot-air balloon
of the intellectual thoughts of drunk minds splattering
their thoughts of life and death and permanence against the
swollen ears of the laughing scientist, so sure of his
warm logical analysis of the life and death of the
unfortunate child. The night is filled with still-born
dreams and dismal flights of fancy about the future -
whether dates or work or hobbies or roaring trophies
in their taxidermist grin. It won't be awkward to
dream about a life of egalitarian equality, a life where
the man and the woman and the rich and poor and the
black and white are the same, sitting at the dark bar
ordering white russians arguing over who can afford to
pay the bloated tab. My thoughts are ruled by my bladder,
and a swallow-tailed kite is kissing me in my tattooed
dreams, wearing a cap to block the black and white shite
that parisails down the nighttime sky in tiny bombs of a
glassy-eyed terrorist drinking the purple tea of ideological
ecstasy tauting the virgins in the wet ether with their
dopamine smiles and serotonin smiles making grandiloquent
excuses for their credulity. I see the kite in its thermal
soaring for the world, drugged in tattooed words, flustering
downy birds.


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