a quick trip

by anthony

It was about rediscovering the back alley ghosts crooning from the jukebox, lost in the streets, livin’ for the American dream of freedom over poverty.

It was about not trying to be anything but rather trying to be someone.  ‘Bout sippin’ and trippin’ the days away with the dire threatening desire to be a moment by moment lover of the moment.

It was about feeling my body exhausted, my shoulders searing with pain, my eyes tearing to stay open, my motivation depleted, my thoughts blank yet still putting the ink to the tree to scrape some scratch of life to get me convinced once again that I have some purpose.

I asked someone where the beats were.  Where’s Vesuvius?  Where’s City Lights?  Where’s Trieste?  “You come here to be a writer, huh?”

And I say, “I am not sure what you imply.  Who I am is what I do.  What I ‘do’ can’t define me anymore.”

“Jerry mentioned you cut your hair.”

“Jerry mentioned that she never spoke again.”

Then I thought, What does it have to do with anything when rocking on the bentwood chipping the mosaic on the table top?

I ate one more marshmallow with another swig of wine and it began…the whisper…describe to me everything you saw…the breathe, the need to be loved through one of my stories…pieces, fragmented memories…thoughts are never continuous and dreams always linger like the fog surrounding the bay…

There was nothing.  And there was definitely no one there.  I stared into the breathing abyss, trying, with too much earnestness, to make something more of that moment.  But, only peeks of light cracked through that steel wall; There were peeks of light none-the-less.  And they always urged me towards them rather than away.  The waves of them etched into the sand like the winding story of a record that spiraled for reasons of insanity through absolute purity.

All around was utter silence.  Even the crashing foam of the salt waters made not a sound.  Glowing fog shadowed endless fear, empty of wonderment and uncertainty.  Here I am were the only three words the musty thickness of solitude allowed me.  Here I am, as the dunes, water and piers were cinematically panned further and further from my grasp, and then from my sight.  Here I am as she became a speck of past-life nostalgia fading into the aria the salty wind trailed through my ears like the tongue of Venus lustfully inspiring sexuality that damns the gray intentions of the howling apparition of selfish misguidance.

The things that matter never have…it’s time to become wise in the knowledge of the cipher within the meticulous courage of truth.

It started as an idea; a faint unknowing of what only could be understood.  Still, there was no sense of it as long as the mind churned the rusted cogs to understand it.

I became so lost within this deliriousness that I hadn’t noticed my feet evaporated into the New Moon blues of that foggy hallucination.  Liquid ice-whipped seaweed strangled my ankles, fungus-invoked nausea residing inside my throat flavored each breath with the excretion of hope and life.  The sky ending within the sand within the ocean within the concept that has evolved a species towards dissent and progress.

Oxygen, flesh pink and wet, began filling my lungs as I began slipping more and more.  The gentle notes continued to break through as they battled the fear that had been consuming me in that abyss, like the voice of the angel from behind the curtain of life as I slipped further into a standing coma overcome by the power of a universe that I have tried to create, control and reside in, all simultaneously.

So, I asked her, and she answers in a code possible only by myself to decipher.  The scent of the sea turtle…imagine the stories.

And, as I went to embrace her, to lay a kiss on her in gratitude for this new direction, like the mist, she vanishes.  It’s the salt, I hear as I turn my flesh inside out and lick this shell.

“I’m sorry,” I cried back with a dry tongue.

Don’t be, you did nothing wrong.  You’ll learn in time that sorrow matters not.  But, even still, it’s the salt that heals you, to help you live eternally.  Don’t forget about what’s already there.