The activist

And then someone said: they’d been having these dreams, of temptation and stuff; and I thought: great god, don’t we all?

The equivalent harbinger of this was another shot in the dark to match up where the pain was to bring release; but I’d missed the bus of that and was somewhere else praying OMG in the wings to the students who were standing around and wondering: who was this?

Yes, I was the idiot in the cell, the activist who would never give up to the evil that would turn the world into its like, that I wanted nothing to do with, nor any part of.

I counted all the particles of god that I could stand up in and blessed myself as much as I could, and stood firm in my resolution to never bow to them or ever succumb to their dream of such destruction I could never sleep.

They had evil on their side that played with their eyes some kind of smirk.

I was lost through the ragged hole of existence of where I was and could not go any further, so I pulled the blanket of my sleep up to my chin and escaped again once more like a painting over water all that I was.

Anyway, I was thinking all this as I slipped down the stairs of doom into another reality I had to deal with somehow, like a blow to my suicide with a sledgehammer.

As I looked through the window of this in the garden of my prison, I saw the moon, full and rounded, and I thought about infinity and the black cat and all those unacceptable accoutrements that came with it.

Maybe you need a good talking to, said the pixie sitting on the magnificent and proverbial toadstool under the full moon and looking down at me with huge, huge eyes.

Oow, I said, haven’t you got big eyes.

She began to head me off about here and told me to keep my hands to myself.

Now how am I going to do that, with you strapped to the only parachute, I said; and howled.

I think, you must stay your mind away from here, or I will hit you with my whip, she said, and blew me a kiss.

I was hollow and looking for an open window, so I jumped right into the jaws of death with nothing more than the electric light bulb over my head.

About half way down I found my ears ringing, so I said: hush; but they paid me no mind and went about their business with no more than the usual sort of music playing, like some kind of elevator to the moon, where I would find myself yodelling if I didn’t find myself doing something else.

Grasping at straws about this, the full moon turned summersaults, and the turning/eternal circles did backward flips all over the place like you’d never believe it was possible.

Yes, It was but my mind, you have to believe me, it’s my only excuse, I said, as I counted up my rubber bands all over my fingers and began to believe that there was more to life than the grocery store to go mooching in all day long.

I was about to go out looking for a party, when in dropped the next load; so I gathered up my pitchfork and got ready for it to come near me, and say anything at all.

As I prodded about in the darkness with my pitchfork I dived into learning Japanese, just in case the other side came for me and I needed an excuse about what I was doing and where I was.

There are many levels of understanding one can attain, you know, in a lifetime; but there’s no philosophy around here about that, said a sign in the tonight, so I said: oh, where am I coming from; oh, oh, I hope I’m not too late to tell you a tale?

Uh, said the night watch man from out of his sleepy chair.

We’ll give you gas for your tank, said the drunkards out in the night.

That’s it, I said, then, I’ve had enough; come and take me away if you will.

Well, it’s at least some kind of story, isn’t it, I said, as the night called to take me away, and leaving me with nothing more than the stars shouting across the sky…

It is closing time now, said the movie producer, and switched out the lights.

Images from Pixabay