Driver, Oh Driver

I would like to get off this ride. Maybe I never want it to end. Where did I go? How do I just do things and just watch? Sometimes I feel like I'm just watching, like someone else is the real pilot. I'm just hanging on the back of the plane, watching the air move past. Feeling as it rushes over me, touching with spectral tendrils. I know this happens, it doesn't bother me, I don't even know who's talking right now. Is it the One? Or the Me? I guess it's how you define 'me'. I've lost my dictionary, I just knows what feels right. And when it doesn't. I hid so far away, all night. Who did I send out on point then? Someone has to drive this crazy train.

Truth is a bar of a Starsoul. When it is gift wrapped in a soft cloth and given as a offering, it will always be pure. We simply react to its blinding light through our little red glasses. We all wear dozens of them at a time, each a slightly different color. They dance in our eyes and we do not see them. Sometimes the brilliance is blinding, so we let our glass grow cloudy. Sometimes the aurora will dance in colors we cant see, even through the clearest glass. But rarely do we see all the spectrum of the radiance at once. Its always wise to never trust your lenses, and I have. But it will cost. Today it will, but this is just the steps along the way.

One hundred

What if I could wish for one hundred pounds of anything? I could have a hundred pounds of clay, and make a life size statute. One day I would get it cast in bronze. Do people still do that? I hope they do, real statues, real art. Not just twisty lines... A statue of human emotion, a statue that makes human emotion. Noble, tranquil, loving. Or maybe baroque writhing, crying in passion. Something that would be breathtaking. Yes I remember. It wasn't the last time, nor will it be the last time. But I remember. The Three Graces. Glowing quietly in a hall of unsurpassed beauty, shaming it all. The walls seemed to stretch away to the sky forever. Inch after inch covered in paintings, every one a masterpiece. Its a funny thing to just wander in off the street and see. I was totally unprepared, I felt like I was going to fall over. That could be the value of one hundred pounds. One statement.

I could get one hundred pounds of flowers, fresh and full of life. I could spend a day just handing them out. Would it take more then a day? A week perhaps? Who would last longer, me or them? Maybe it sounds silly, and maybe it would be. Some people would care. Some people surely wouldn't. I know I would be made fun of by a few. But I know that if I had enough, I would get through to at least one person. Really get through to them. Someone who needed it, some one who thinks that life is grey, someone who would never forget a small gift of color. That's all it would take to make it worth the effort, worth the spending of a wish. It would all be fleeting, they would all wither and die. In the end we would have one hundred pounds of dust and clouds. But that's what would make it special. The bronze would last forever, maybe inspiring years and years after I am clouds and dust. Just as Antonio Canova did for me. But the future is not mine. If at this moment, I could brighten a thousand peoples lives for just this moment, or even just that one... That could be the value of one hundred pounds. One smile.

I could get one hundred pounds of red aluminum foil. I would gather a group of volunteers and head for the mountains, with a mission. As I sit here, this very second, or this, or any second of your choosing, we could walk outside and see the planes coming in. In fact if you have sharp eyes, you will see 3 planes. One time I counted five at once. On the dry and brown hills of California, we would write a message. I guess it wouldn't even matter what we said, my vote would be for: "The cake is a lie." How many peoples lives would I affect? How many thousands soar overhead every day? If I could just show one of them that life isn't so serious, it would be worth all the stamping around in the dust. I know I could get the local P.O.E.E. involved, we would make Malaclypse the Younger proud. I know I'm getting silly here, but that is my point. Its only when we start thinking its all so serious that things get bad. And things feel pretty serious these days. The tree of life is burning. I can only fight the fire the way I know how. That can be the value of one hundred pounds. One moment of disassociation.

I could get one hundred pounds of snow. I would head to darkest, driest Africa, where I could find a tribe of natives that has little to no contact with the outside world. I would give them snow cones and throw snowballs until it all melted. Would it be better to bring them one hundred pounds of beef jerky? I would rather fill a mind then a stomach. One would just be empty again tomorrow, the other may stay full for a lifetime. I am on the fringe of so much effort on behalf of Africans. So many different agendas, so many missions, but it all feels a bit hopeless. Yes.. hopeless is a good word, I've heard the stories. Its not as though they are helpless in Africa. Its just that they are hopeless. They are defeated before they even begin. What if I could show them that there are wonders in this world? I could tell stories of blizzards and rain, and water cycles and endless oceans of ice. Of penguins and polar bears, not long for this world. Show them pictures of lamas and seals. Tell them stories of Narwhals. Can you imagine what that would be like for them? Magic and fantasy, living unicorns and dragons. What greater gift could I give someone, a living fairy tale. Wonder at a world we have lost. I can only fight their apathy the way I know how. That can be the value of one hundred pounds. A dream.

These are all things I could do, but maybe its what I've done with one hundred pounds that tells the most interesting story... lose them. Some times the absences of something is the most powerful. That can be the value of one hundred pounds. One life.

Tuned.

Sometimes I lurk a bit. The shadows and fringes can be comforting, a place where I can watch all the people so busy. Family gatherings are something akin to hurricanes, if maybe more chaotic. But they are also easy to get lost in. Its so nice to listen sometimes. I like to listen, even when people are talking of things they expect me not to care about, I always pay attention. Its all interesting to me. And then I get drawn into it, because I just have to ask a question, make a comment, dig deeper and deeper. I can't seem to stay out of it for long. And then every now and then I am surprised by just how much of the conversation I am carrying. Its funny, I always thought of myself as a reserved and quiet person. I think I would be too, if I wasn't so inquisitive.

When a conversation starts moving quickly, when there are a lot of people involved, I sometimes just stop talking. When things are really moving, and everyone gets into it, sometimes I will leap in with some comment or correction. I think I surprise people, they probably thought I tuned out.

Its not like me at all to tune out. But lately, its been happening a lot. In the middle of something, anything, my eyes drift off to some far away or nonexistent spot, and I am lost to what's happening around me. My mind taken by thoughts of you. I can just see myself standing there, eyes adrift and turned inward, with that goofy half grin on my face. Time can seem a bit disjointed, and I wish it would just brake away and leave me and be done with it. It never listens. The day goes on.

I'm not sure what I sat down to start writing about... But I'm not at all surprised where I ended up.