8:28
I am essentially the same distance away from 30 years as I am my 14th year. There is a whisking motion when time passes and all my grey hair stands on end and the stadium roars indifference and collapses. When I am 30 I do not want to look tired. That sterile mask would tighten and be the last one I wear for the rest of my life. The sleep of my life. The leisure of my life. Resting heart rate. Jagged mountain ranges flatten out into a desert, waterless plain, like a racing heart monitor that stops abruptly. Moisture in the air and the hair is folded over. Glory be the casual listening. My ears echo locate each note in a vast array of electronic signals that seem like big radio towers or the snowblind dish network transmitters with the computer labs buried beneath white powder in the enemy territories.
Neighbors blow their noses like car horns honking up oil. Two long showers and then silence. Thundering around so that the floorboards vibrate. Move around furniture without a clear, demanding purpose. Guitar and amp now rest in faux tile floor dinner kitchenette area with the table and side table, a wildly growing asparagus fern, near the doorway an ivy attempts to cling to a pole where I settled it experimentally. Half finished art projects are now separated by style, with the necessary equipment portioned off (aside from the paints. they are buried beneath collage materials, all those colors and cut up magazine shapes) my motorcycle stomach revs. I keep having images of myself flash before my eyes of a saggy eyed old-young man. losing time and feeling it all whisk pass as I underappreciate every flower blossom and beautiful peaceful moment as they compile and close up into a chaotic scene with the thrushes and rose berry bushes the kind with blue and red little fruits just as a time traveling future self would tell me not to forget.
The old 14 year in me is screaming too. Live! he says. Do what makes a better story! Every breath is infinitely important as it is transient. Every glare into the reflective mirror should be one of happy astonishment. (My! How did I get here? Last time I checked my watch, it lit up blue-green and I was on the swingset) the giant tires in the playground are now so small. Naughty things would happen in them. Urine and making out. Never at the same time as far as I know.
This human passivity is a murderous time killer. Go boldly into the night. Do not question each action searching for relevance and intrinsic meaning. It must all flood out of you like the sensations of the world flood right back into you. This is a process of flow and of peaceful acceptance of all life, all humans, a designed flaw and a happy flaw. this mask needs to be a clear cut example of what it means to feel human. nothing more or less.
don't let the bastards get to you.
be weird and intelligent.
not awkward and anxious.
