oil, water. elections, etc.

(written in 2008, partially in response to a friend's death by heroin overdose)


most of the people we ended up meeting
most of the people we ended up 
is the right word 
encountering
some of them down by the cemetery
some of them down by the camping grounds
some of them hanging around the recycling center
without a whole lot to comment on
without a very thorough method 
of interfacing with strangers 
jog their outdated and at the same time 
oversaturant memories
ended up going thru garbage
helped us to initiate conversation
need that personal spark sometimes 
to really get the ball rolling
every time we ended up talking
every time we ended up 
is the right word avoiding or visiting
go or retrace over almost identical incidents
one in which a person almost lived
or in which a person almost died of the opposite
or became a salami distributor
going from deli to deli hoping to interest the entrepeneurs
in this new and exciting brand of meat or sandwich addition
only of course after having done the neccesary subtraction
the same words, over and over
the same or at least very similar phrases, over and over
identical images, over and over
a series of outbursts and noises, over and over
familiar smells down by the river, the factory
grass trails walked over and over
a bicycle eventually disappears over the dam
after hanging on by a spoke
even thru the worst April torrents
we go to visit him sometimes and find
that he is simply not living there
ask around at all the neighbors 
and they don't know who we're even referring to
rummage thru his kitchen, his pantry, 
his basement, his closet
a terrifying stranger arrives 
and offers to break down the door
must have had some terrifying diseases
had some terrifying conditions
to almost die because of something 
and then do the exact same thing 2 weeks later 
what does this say about one's commitment 
what does this say about one's priorities 
must have been following an entirely different sort of election
must have vetted an alternative 
series of candidates within the most private recesses 
of one's own small one room effeciency 
and conducted the sort of debates that allow 
for completely open-ended and confrontational answers
candidates tearing each other apart 
pulling out switchblades and brass knuckles 
one is left lying inert near the podium 
the other already confiding in a small coterie of trained assassins and managers  bigger better stronger richer more connected more potent more thrilling more willing to take that final leap into the abyss that's what the voters really seem to desire what the networks are truly addicted to but the tv gets switched off eventually and begins to gather dust under its drop cloth the fluids seem to be missing or at least misapplied inside the plastic and highly temporary outer casing wander down to the cemetery wander down to the recycling center wore a helmet wore coveralls wore oil in his hair and on his eyelids the same terms same disguises tweaked slightly to fit present conditions how can you not pull the bicycle away when you realize that it's a mere spoke between it and oblivion the water pounds deep into the summer becomes cracked and obscure in the winter tricked him once into falling on his knees lapping the stuff up like an animal- what's this? the Bahgavad Vita? what's this?  the narrations of the Buddha?  what's this?  Meister Eckhart?  What the fuck is this?  Descarte, Leibniz, Spinoza?  Masters of order, structure, discipline, control, rationality: says so right here on what remains of the cover- the same or similar methods, the same or similar impossibilities, the same or similar hungers, the same or similar exasperation at all the remedies encountered so far hence a spike is prepared and inserted directly into the vein within seconds his system goes inert and he falls heavily face down onto the floor the pavement the asphalt lullabyes begin crooning from the clock radio broadcasts of brand new exit polls impulsively gathered outside the recycling center most voters it seems prefer to simply lie down in the grass preferably near a flowering bush or tree within hearing distance of children at play just what the candidates were promising after all the bread and butter has been taken care of the same or similar flavors the same or similar recipes cooked late at night in small apartments for the benefit of the local alternative medicine using community formation of orderly lines formation of a small homespun economy government issue food clothing and housing available in small towns thruout the region don't need a communist revolution just maintain the same or similar rate of prison building and there you have your so-highly-desired-and-needed artistic community most of the day and most of the evening spent immersed in your papers, writings, and sketches, little songs composed on tin whistles smuggled out into the collective bloodstream of free-standing and public individuals did a short stint back in 2003 for possession of compromising paraphanalia and said for the rest of his curtailed life that it was one of the most peaceful  and productive periods that it was his good fortune to ever experience.  a terrifying person shows up and eventually breaks down the door or barrier.  how many of us have heard these exact same accusations directed at ourselves?  thought he was finally safe, thought he was finally close to being more or less indestructible, the mundane, corporeal realm, the realm of machines and elections, swallowed up by his shelf full of sacred texts and reduced to amusing or childlike memories-  to his former girlfriend- "if we can't be together in real life, I'll simply shift the whole relationship to a plane where the thing between us keeps on unfolding, but better, richer , larger, and not dependent on your ongoing contribution- see, I get what I want, whether you approve or like it or not- " .....and he goes onto to spend the following decade like a wearily married average adult, except for the small fact that his wife.....the small fact that his own biological organism.....does not really have an identity....no longer puts stock in those sort of distinctions....the primal one, the primal OM...why can't we all just get along?......develops certain tastes, certain flavors I like these tastes I like these flavors insomuch as I still am or have an "I" at all....pressed like flowers or clover deep into the folds of a dictionary....a little phrase scrawled inside the cover:  here is eternal spring for you the very stars of heaven are new just like the sacred texts seemed to promise similar light, over and over, the same or at least very similar darkness, over and over
the same speeches and images
the same convulsions remind me of
little boy little organism little person 
on his knees lapping up river water
now it's nowhere and everywhere
the tattered shelf of even more tattered paperbacks
little boats made out of wood pulp
ancient traditions developed in what are often 
referred to as simpler eras
hops along from stone to stone
pauses for several moments alongside the dam
the sheer force or pressure of that human invention
not neccesarily Lao-Tzu's recommended 
natural ways or suggestions
stillness silence and emptiness
allowed that human invention
to keep increasing its pressure
because it seemed in line with....
....something.....
seemed to remind him of......
.....something......
the paperbacks sometimes jogged his memory
his brief stint at Recycling Central
the oil discovered inside his eyelids
the trembling hands of a person fumbling 
with a key outside 
the locked but highly seductive Massive Secret
of elective affinities torn out from their place 
cemented into the mosaic
which in turn is itself but a small piece in a larger collage
destroyed by a band of marauders and left strewn and shattered behind in the alley
next to a park
or a grade school
where the kids are sent on a small neighborhood cleanup
picked up
recovered
mis-identified
but glued onto construction paper all the same
along with mussel shells, Indian corn, 
beans of all shape and sizes
a mosaic in the image of a fish
this one somehow recommended or selected
among the billions aswarm in the river
pasted on the wall at eye level
which at that age is around 3 or 4 feet
don't know any better than to drink
water from a natural body
appears to be in such abundance
little life lessons sometimes unlearned sometimes forgotten
sometimes move on to alternate teachers
who contradict everything you've already mastered
what is the sound of one hand clapping
even though I'm in Kyoto 
when the mourning dove sings
I secretly long for Kyoto