The Tao and the darkwell of exhausted breathing. Me answering questions with more, better questions.

 In a room filled with monstrous shadows, my bulbous glowing coconut dome seemed to have become, as it were, central.  I thought, "when oblivion calls, it will be my artistically-inclined finger pushing the green button."

Further: "I've tattooed all of the oxygen molecules in this room."

There was to recap: Me.  Monstrous shadows.  My locust army.  Sean's hairpiece.

And I said, "is there any truth besides?"  But that too was cause for a chapping of the sensitive sphincter, a sort of cause for the primacy of self, when really, its like.

There are other people.

I guess.

I look over my shoulder and this:

I heard my locusts' wings in kind of a muggawumped whispering.  It was like, a chromed statuesque of my own stammering when my nurse asked me of the meaning of life.  I said something like, "nobody has ever been able to explain that, but yeah.  I'm gonna pay you to sit here and listen to ME do that, that hasn't been done.

ever.

before."

A more cumulative viewing of the whole interaction would lead me to the realization that it was my medical professional who should be paying me.  Just as Bentonville thought I owed them my right arm.

Elseways, Kevin is fudged, and its like, maybe he just read of the Tao.  There's always barber college, my friend.  Wing Kevin had a savage streak that had some entertaining components, but I was left to ponder after the laughter subsided about the exact whom that was probably given stitches that particular weekend.  "The book said there is no truth of the universe.  That or the author doesn't trust me with that information."

"Rosberg is at the box.  Hammer time, Lewis."

I had spoke earlier of one getting their arms around the truth, as if to hold it.  That is kind of tangibility that goes beyond the substance of syllables and gruntings.  It is, both the boxer and the bag, as one can only be as good as the other, and if I can make my own familiar positively eat canvas, and over and over, at that, then have I pushed myself, at all?  Have I measurable improvement?

If I am bloodied at an event, and made clouded in my mind, then maybe, struggling to catch my breath, re-oxygenate my blood, feed those tissues, in that most foggy existential mind, where I'm too busy smelling the pencil to compose beautiful words, too enthralled by spiders' legs and drowsy butterflies(and yes, even the butterflies are free), or how other Kim's booty went from Brazilian to Bennettsville.

I have experienced the Tao, then, and the human facility is such that it is difficult to catch in exacting description.  As I told the nurse as she interviewed me, explaining my issue would be to have explained all of life, and in only a few minutes.  I didn't know if she was thinking along the lines of 140 characters or a Haiku or something.  "instapoetry" or what not.

"I seen things."