Saturday, April 16, 2011

Myself as Imagined

At 126 years old I am very tiny. Once I rounded 111, I started to drop a few inches every year. I currently stand about 2 feet tall, but am somehow stronger than ever… and, thankfully, I remain lucid and productive. My life has become as simple as I am diminutive – I need only a meager portion of food, and a little nook of a home. Long ago I asked to meet the Gnomes, instead I have become one.

My wife (125) insists that I continue to live clean-shaven, but at 99 my spectral aura started to be plainly visible, curiously it glows brightest around the chin. I suppose non-corporeal facial hair is better than none at all.

I’ve made a record every year since I was 22, number 102 just came out on wax cylinder and collective consciousness brain stream. When The Veil began thinning I started to collaborate a little with Robbie Basho, and Harry Nilsson, somehow they’ve become even better whistlers since they stopped breathing. Our new vibrational reality has really been a boon for the creative class – there’s a lot less urgency to produce when death is no longer an obstacle… but that also might be why I’m still working on my 2nd novel.

The Singularity came and went with a real Y2K shoulder shrug. Oh some people Borged up obviously, but I decided to remain organic sapien, choosing to put my faith in a long life through an ever-curious mind; and true to my path, I’ve never known a moment’s boredom.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

You Are Free (2 old poems)

I found some poems from several years ago in an old notebook. There is a certain comfort in knowing that time is passing in a spiral, but my thoughts have a clear trajectory, as these poems are as concerned with liberation and a sincere life as I am now. It is with humility that my past and present self presents them, just our little reminder, you are free!

Ironies Passing
Who does an ironic life serve?
What chance do critics have to be quiet, to say grace?
Can you grow grain ironically,
Or for that matter cook a meal?
What chance do cynics have?

Just Let Out
Shuck your husk,
Shed that old carapace.
You are not a pupating insect.
You are a wizard,
A landscape,
The ocean,
The sky!
You are a genie just let out,
Expanding beyond all horizons.
That voice that recites your story,
Is small and annoying like a mosquito.
Ditch that little vampire,
Leave it behind,
Now and forever.
Be born into color.
Your old life was not living.