The Fool's
Journey
by Ned Hogan, Jr.
Imagine,
if you would, since you're here. Since there is always someone else
there now always. Usually. And, as usual, my attempt at micron, no,
basic frangible essense, no, no, too large, bulky, overly complex,
how about, 'tiny'? A very nice word. Yes. So. My usual attempt at
tiny creations that encompass all aspects, veiws, and interpretations
of the afore said experience* serve nothing but to demonstrate to
me the terrible inefficency of language. Sometimes it seems a poison.
My mouth actually changeing shape without opening as the words gathered
in phrases and then, if there happened to be an unexpected ryhme,
they would actually force air to leak, yes, twice, loudly, from a
twisted seal. The monkey mind cannot help but cross the line! That
line! The invisible seal swiming away from my chin to wander in, and
out, of the notion of 'sin' on a good heart. That could not see clearly
enough. And so, imagine someone forced into invisibility by chance.
Unknowable to the point of real absurdity. Who had been given the
medicine from the very earth womanhood itself. Who clung to her instructions
to see beyond the face described in such beautifly treacherous words.
To hold all judgement back long enough for the truth to seep in, penetrate,
naturally. Culture the enemy confronted him on all sides. He let his
invisible hand slide over the small cold hilt of his best trans-situational
smile. He didn't even worry about the tea stains that bent his teeth.
No. The eyes had promised to help the line between the two lips be
as effective as a full smile. A brilliant full smile. And the sound
to acompany it was like a huge friendly desiel truck that just took
its driver's foot off the throttle pedal and hummed. It was 't' minus
fiftytwo hours. He held the cheroot between the tips of all his fingers[well,
the 'little' one almost made it], and his thumb, so that the burning
end was in the hollow thus created. He slid that hand into his pants
pocket. He was full of hot air. Yes. So. Ten and one half "so's"
held right there, at the center. Until the center was everywhere.
It felt to him as if everyone who was within vison range had noticed
his change of posture and thought he was trying to show of his height
and chest. He tried to encourage it as lights began to dance before
his eyes as he approched a stop light. He was walking under the trees
that lined the street and right through their torn and dancing shadows.
The wind was just right and ripped the smoke away from his flared
nostrils and swirled it in every direction. It snaked off around the
buildings. This one had a taste for angry words. Its inverse-venom
decapitated huge large and monstrous words and tossed then into the
sea of humor that waits all around us. Making 'spontaneos' grins under
the assumption of no malice start chirping all around like birds trying
to rob each other for crumbs.
