Here is a last look for a little while at Laveta Terrace and the lunatic fringe which currently has openings for a premium initiation fee, worth every penny. My labours afford me a special otherness today and I allow the festive spirit to boggle over into the mundane and the ordinary seems extra ordinary. On this day the higher force has placed me back in Silver Lake in Bob's Bunker, built beguilingly into the hillside across from Highway 2 at the freeway's very inception. Still, plentiful California greenery creates a scene of great beauty and the hum of traffic is soon lost on thoughts of whimsy in the mighty sunlight which rains straight down to the very base of our canyons at the height of day but we are shielded in the cavity, Walter and I, and watch from the shade as the foliage gently fans and I think about future days when I'll pursue physical exploits beyond the muddled. Bah! Today can still find its greatness.
Today I feel the Crush of Labours
I must wander in the desert to find the way
Back to the Promised Land
Which requires that you get your ass up in 'em woods
Oh, we'll take your money
The winding path has crested
A dark valley full of mystery and promise waits below
Tomorrow's light will reveal honesty and intent
Seeking something close to purity
Ready to leap into virgin folds of intrigue
Without a parachute
Just catch the guy that jumped out before you
That be the way of the American Adventurer
The Republican American Adventurer
They say the Good Times will Roll if you get in a Groove so I'm gonna stop fighting it and see what's in the dark valley that starts to feel like ... I do wanna go. Teach me the easy way because I wandered from the path that I had trusted but got tricked into slavery and now I prepare for my new face on the west coast. Just wait 'til these legs can carry my new face somewhere. That will be special.
The sun starts to lose a little of its nuclear intensity and the light takes on a gold tinge that hints of something potentially sublime or just outright lime.
Twilight of Labours and the last rays clip the hilltops across the highway to the west and the mercury eases down the tube to a respectable pressure which every one can enjoy. I live in the cradle of the mountains
The ocean lingers on an aroma, alive
Perfume and shampoo, skin softener and oils, all out there, somewhere through the thicket
Possibility awaits the earnest
Some ghosts are still left in the night
The ghosts of a dying season
In a few weeks they'll be gone til next July
Replaced by different spirits
That fit other parts of the mind
Shorter days affect the outcome
So proceed with caution
The first walking dream occurred the other night and made me feel fresh in the early afternoon when I assimilated it all, studying my psyche carefully, in spite of the danger, and turning up only dead-end yearning and desire which made me feel like Norman Bates. Maybe I should give myself a break on this one. Maybe.
Regardless, does anyone have regards anymore? They certainly don't seem as freely given in our electronically dependent society. They should shut off the power to the city, except hospitals, airports, etc. maybe three nights a week and we just have to read by candlelight or improvise. Maybe two nights, starting at eleven, or midnight. Hmm.
I, Hatchet Jack, being of sound mind and broke legs, do hereby..... A special no-prize to whomever nails that one.