Back From A Jungle of Unknownable News

…ou can just pick up where you left off, if you like.  or just start writing as if you’d been talking about it this whole time but had been somewhat walled or sanctioned off into some other part of the place of things — where no one could hear.  and, maybe, you couldn’t see that, for some time now!, you’d been all alone.

that’s what i’d do.  its simpler that way.  than to try to somehow go back and recap every little thing that happened from *then* until *now*.  it’d be ridiculous.  so many very curious things have happened in that intervening time.  though i know that some things would be simply too delicious and savory for you, dear reader.   but they are my dark and velveteen inner-side things.  i go miserably plumbing through them more than enough without inviting an unfathomably open-ended horde of folks into the pleasurable wildness of it.*  so it was thus and now it is thus.

and though many things have changed… ye gods, nearly everything, actually… i am still around and kicking, ain’t i?  that is to say that despite everything, i think I am, if anything, reaffirmed of my mission in all this.  i make music.  and so, with every aching, creaking, waxing, and wavering step time makes down the grand mountain’s slope, to the open hill country of the near future, and finally in the darkening brambles and canopy of the long-far and entropy-ridden ends-of-days — i continue to make music.  indeed, some days there is little else.  i don’t eat, don’t speak.  i certainly don’t sleep.  all these things are somewhat annoying.  they remind one that one is oneself and entirely loose and red-fleshy.  it were better to think on the abstractions and the mind and the whistling places.

after all, what do you know of asceticism? like, yes, monks and all that.  for all the woe and destruction that beliefs of every kind have brought upon this life, there is still the great opportunity to seek something more.  even surrounded, as we all are, with the mundane wonders of the modern age.

i admit, regaining that level of composure has proven insidiously difficult.  but i find that supporting days-long fits of abstemious focus can be a great way to approach the larger idea by baby steps.  and then, every few or several days (or whatever handful you can manage to cobble up in your basket), simply let loose.  and be dirty, seeking, red-fleshy imperfection. you never can quite quit the working, but you push it way, way back and thorough-down and you bring all the coiling demons front to have their holiday.

unsurprisingly, for all their graceless and clawing vigor, they are quickly sated.  barely remembering what their great hurry was, once let loose.  this is comedic and worth laughing over.

or, perhaps like Ford Prefect, I have become unhinged.  and i might do well to spend my days and nights leaping in and out of a lake called Sanity.**

any ways why all this bluster, then?  well, honestly, i’ve finally taken the hint from friends gently reminding me that i should be writing.  but, in order to write anything of worth, i must first eliminate all these grapevine-like thoughts that keep plant-crawling through my brain and holding me all in. and unkindly.

so, hey internet.  hey late-nighters, midnight society-ers, random-link-clickers, friends, lovers, unhappy angels, pretty young things, blog-nerds, dog-catchers, dog-walkers, and lil’ dogies; hey thou swell, thou inconsistent, thou weak and hard and unknowing newcasters; hey you writers, well-doers, artists, artisans, and saints.  you that had eyes or had ears.  who, with heavy hearts, are all about the spinning — the literally spinning — world:

i am back.

i am back.



*worry not, i am a serial journalizer.  when i’m gone — should you out last me on this unforgiving rock — you should feel free, if you’re actually still interested, to peruse all my surviving journals and see just what maddening agoggity was being spattered all this way and that, like flicked paint, through my mind.

**i was too lazy to look up which of the four HitchHikers books this was in.  and so, I’m not entirely sure it was Prefect doing all the leaping.  could have been, however.  i think it was the third book!  or maybe it was So Long And Thanks For All The Fish.  a simple google search would find it.  but then, if you really care and you’ve read this whole foot-note then you’re quite capable of doing all that yourself, are you not? pretty sure the lake was called Sanity or something droll like that.


About akiebermiss

pianist, composer, singer, writer. hater.
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