Old timer drunk at the carnival

https://soundcloud.com/#szymon-bonaventura/old-timer-drunk-at-the

Duck duck goose

“Look, look, look!” 

he says

poking her with one hand

and pointing to a young man,

by the lakeside,

with his other.

“he's having an epiphany!”

“OUCH! Stop poking me!...

How can you tell?”

“I had one just like it, I can tell by his face”

“when?”

“when I was young”

“you are young”

“I was much younger before”

“were you by a lakeside?”

“no, I was in bed”

“was I there?”

“no”

“did you know me then?”

“no”

“what was the epiphany about?”

“that's like asking what deja vu is about”

“I know what my deja vu is about”

“what?”

“I remember being near a lake,

you were a hound

and I was duck,

you snapped at me

but I knew you were just playing”

“yes, you had nice feathers then...

Rghouf rghouf!” He barks at her squinting face,

they laugh.

 

The young man by the lakeside hears their banter

and turns his attention from the branches overhead

to the pretty couple rolling in the grass barking and quacking.

He was beginning to get used to these synchronicities.

Earlier that morning he awoke to the sound of children playing

duck duck goose, in the courtyard.

He got out of bed playfully annoyed,

and barked like a viscous dog, out the window,

down into the courtyard.

A couple of the little girls screamed,

he laughed to himself over eggs and coffee.

real green

I get home and it feels like

nothing but boxed air

the clock reminds me

once a second

what time is supposed to be

I get home and it feels like

everything except out there

books press against each other

reminding me of the

relationship of informations

I get home and it feels as though

it's insignificant where i live

my mattress bluntly reminds me

of the stubbornness of gravity

I get home and it feels like

I've never been here before

the coriander on my window sill

reminds me of what the

real green is supposed to mean

I get home and it feels like

I've been here all my life

I take off my boots and the rich smell of my feet

reminds me of where I've been

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anten I and I

I come home exhausted,
from what? I'm not really sure
probably all that hazy yellow afternoon sun
that my skin absorbed from a perfect distance
I kick my mess aside and
throw all the things that aren't agreeing with the
rest of the mess into the next room
and while doing so, find the remote I never knew I had
I watch a science documentary
which attempts to explain physics
to those who to watch television
this episode is called “universe or multiverse?”
and to help understand the theory of a multiverse
the charming, enthusiastic, American host begins with an analogy
“picture a block of cheese!”
and as he continues to talk about what we perceive
as the universe, the computer generated graphic
of the cheese transforms into Swiss cheese.
“now picture SWISS CHEESE, and imagine our
supposed universe as just one of the holes in this cheese”
after he's done talking about cheese, some physicists
are interviewed; they explain the multiverse
using their scientific language and profound mathematics
to validate the hosts point.
But it still sounds like cheese to me.
Interesting and real, but far from my favourite food.
If I could taste once in my life,
it'd tell them to keep their cheese to themselves.
I change the channel
and there is Snoop dogg under a fruit tree in jamaica.
He has his skinny arms up over his head
jumping up and down trying to pick a grapefruit just out of his reach.
when he finally grabs hold of it he tears it open and bites into it
and with juice running down his goatee he looks into the camera
all soft eyed
“this here is paradise baybee!”
it cuts to him that evening, in the studio
recording a song called fruit juice.
he sings about god, peace, love, rastafari and fruit juice
he calls it his reincarnation
and asks to be referred to as Snoop Lion
god I feel like some grapefruit juice
It's after midnight and the shops are closed
so I just wander through the thick darkness
walking the streets taking the turns as they come
I step and I step and I hum, sing and hum
I can sense the signals of people inside their bedrooms
all the flavours of their truths and dreams
seeping out of the windows
I channel into them as I go by
and I don't need a special remote
I just sing their signals as they float

earlier today,
while painting a white wall whiter,
my father told me that silk worms live only in mulberry trees,
i told him that i couldn't believe it took me 25 years to hear this for the first time

later,
i figured i could afford to buy my favourite vodka,
the one with a bison on the label
and a blade of grass inside

just now,
my father rang
and told me it's going to rain tomorrow
so we're not going to work

now,
i ask him if he thinks time grows like a mulberry tree or like grass
he asks me if i'm drunk

i say yes

he laughs
ha ha ha.

Intense Tense

In my shower, in my box of a bathroom, in the morning, in a slightly off balanced state of mind; I shower. The ache behind my eyes has settled into a gentle throbbing tingle, almost pleasant. I watch the drops bouncing off my chest and shoulders and fly past the sunbeam coming through the window, each individual one is splitting its own personal colour spectrum within.
I play with the idea of following one drop's journey. from falling out the shower head, bound together with many others for extra momentum, to dramatically bouncing off my shoulder and breaking away from the others and taking its own flight path, but just before my little hero reaches the sunbeam I close my eyes.

I close my eyes and begin following another path, my own path, that is being paved by the rhythms of those gentle throbs originating from behind my eyes.

Before I knew it I had to choose between other paths. paths being paved by other beats, rhythms, throbs and wails. This wasn't a four way intersection or two paths diverging in a yellow wood. these paths were not numbered, but nevertheless completely based on precise mathematics. Completely based on precise mathematics and at the same time as messy as a high school art teachers ashtray. There was one and infinite, more-or-less and before I knew that, I had already chosen one to go down. I wasn't forced into any decision, not by anyone but myself, even though I was there before I got the chance to make it.
I was making decisions in history while experiencing their consequence. And when tense became too tense I opened my eyes.

I open my eyes in time to catch my little drop hit the sunbeam and split its own personal fantastic colour spectrum before leaving me.
Where did it go? Is it dead? Did it know it was going to split that rainbow? Did it join back together with the other drops? did it know I was watching it? Did it split that rainbow for me? Did it wonder or care? It was just falling wasn't it? Making decisions in history.

Climbing Limbs.

I've often wondered why tree climbing isn't a more appreciated activity/hobby (sport?). So when the clouds parted and the sun shined on down, I went to the woods and I climbed on up. I still wonder.