VVG

One wonders if it were the flickering tail of the garret mouse--

That fluttered like the needle who could not find a point

Within the confused compass so jumpily out of joint--

Who sped around the dust and hues of your yellow house.

Or maybe it was the wafting smoke from a teeth-clenched pipe--

That rose like the charmer’s snake from his wicker basket

Or the smoky souls of recent ghosts from out of caskets--

That inspired the agitation of colour in swirls of strife.

Or was it a nameless deep down thing?  Sensation stirred

Upon the last vestige of soul for demand of expression

That scythed and sheaved through the fields of depression?

And above those black and circling swirl of birds

Tell in both sight and of sound even the struggle must die.

This with a fine tuned soul you could both see and hear

Despite the selfless desire to give a slice of an ear,

Amid the waving windy whispers of barley and rye.

For in your portrait, too, those colours of strife swirl round

A sure and steady head with blazing eyes and orange beard

That, like a burning sun, intensified what was feared.

And the same opaque but mutable waves can be found

Where the curling cypress stabs at a storming azure

Sky, a tempest that worked like Jupiter’s little spot,

A convulsive ocean more than merely a tiny dot.

To paint seemed not yet the port nor the final cure.

All is sturm and drang, sure felt within, seen without.

But the tempting need for tameness with a howling hush

Swept upon a surface with a flicker of a bristling brush,

Did simulate the swirling anguish yet brought it about.

Ghosts at the Door

At night I watch a line of ghosts walk past the door

In a steady stream of holographic gore.

The door is at a crack as a matter of course

And each glides by, a slivered sight where, perforce,

Each exsanguinous eye falls on me or else the floor.

They slide by in a row without howl, screech, or bark,

A chain of vapory light amidst the purpley dark.

I lay there prostrate on a cold dream-less bed

Where just a neck strains to lift a half- heavy head,

To spy this silent spectre gang sear cold on a mark

That is my already existing fathomless fear.

They burn in bloodless light with nothing but a mere

Glance that sets like an arrow at this timeless thing

Through the quiet screech of an infinite, noiseless din

Which, like each stare, is piercing and sharply clear.

Deaths foot it slowly and my ever smacking heart

Synchronizes to each silent step as they march,

And the tight and muted throbbing in my chest

Sounds the malingering dirge they feign to follow lest

No beating time create chaos and rend them apart.

Could all the ghosts of remembrance fill up a space?

Does time hold the memory for just such a place?

Yet it is time and a place that sets them one by one

Like dead ticks of the clock, like false beats of a drum,

As each eyes me, then the floor, then walks at a pace.

Sleek and shimmering, they seem all a silvery whole,

An amorphous humanity in an everlasting slow

But fleeting trek.  And I strain a brain to wonder why

I somehow sense a longing, a desire within each eye,

For each to find the flickering thought of what is a soul.

Elephant's and Chihuahua's: Speculation, Intuition, and the Ties that Bind

This is the deal. I was rollerblading in the house and I fell in the kitchen. I fell flat on my back and found myself incapable of getting myself back up. This no matter how hard I tried. I was, in a word, incapacitated.  Here’s the deal within a deal. I left my kitchen door open. It leads down the stairs and, ultimately, outside. I say ultimately but this really only takes on meaning if the door downstairs leading outside is open. I say ultimately only if these requirements are met. But it can lead outside assuming doors are open. If so, there is minor danger here for, if the downstairs door is open, a stray animal could easily make their way in to my kitchen from the outside in a streamlined manner (Yes, I do include the human animal).

If this sounds like an abstract worry, well, I am here to tell you today nebulous preoccupation became concrete reality. It did this in real time. You see, there is a dog, the neighbour’s dog, who loiters outside my home pretty regularly. I see him often. He sees me often. There is, if I'm being honest, felt tension. There has been for months. He is a Chihuahua. Yes. Do you now comprehend the preoccupation? My preoccupation? You now understand said tension, I should hope. I needed no other description other than his breed, I should think. I am glad we (you and I) understand each other this simply. I say simply as a matter of knowing confidently complexities can be reduced to simplicities. Sort of like when a very astute person can explain E=MC² to an unscientific mind in terms easily digestible. Actually, I don't even think I mean that. This is not the metaphor at all. It’s more like when two lovers understand each other with a simple glance. It is that shared understanding without explanation. Not that we are lovers. I just mean to use that as an analogy. We are like that. We are not that (You and I).

I know you know where this is going. Yes. The Chihuahua made his way upstairs. Yes. I have deemed him a gender. This is important. You’ll come to understand this in the most underwhelming way. At least, I mean the significance. He came waddling in through the threshold, the kitchen one, his four legs in a motion of blur making them one entity on top of that little body. He held his head high. I should have been more surprised than I was, but all I did was strain my neck and more so my eyeballs, to see him coming round the bend and I thought, not now, waddly, not right now. Yes, I used the adjective waddly.  He waddled. Some dogs do. This was not a first impression but the thought did come without forethought. I thought before how he waddled. I saw it during our encounters. I thought it many times. It stuck in my mind. I guess I just called it up, as it were, without thinking. It came in the heat of the situation. And I have quite the situation for you. You'll know what I mean. He ignored it. He ignored my angry plea. It's hard to tell if dogs like that actually think they’re as imperial as they act, because, god knows, he did appear imperial. Is it we just project it on them because of the behaviour we are familiar with but is something they are utterly unaware? I felt he thought he was imperial. I would say aloof.  I still can’t say he knew he was aloof. Can he be aloof without knowing it? Or knowing to put it in words? It is hard to say. Is he just working like a robot? Who knows? Despite this, there is some behavior that is not ambiguous. It may be debated whether intentional or not, but not ambiguous. It follows:

He walked over to me. He stopped at my head. I was in agony. He didn't care. Again, I'm assuming that. Again, maybe I'm projecting attitudes not there. All I have is behaviour. As to whether or not he cared stands in the same relationship as wondering whether or not he knew he was imperial. He may have only appeared to be indifferent to my pain. Never mind this. He stopped at my cranium. He looked to his left. Or my left. I was on the ground. My equilibrium was on the ground with me. It was incapacitated, like me. He looked to his side. He then looked down at me again but only for a second because, after looking that glance downward, directly after it without a seeming thoughtful intention, he proceeded humping my skull. He humped it. He humped it quickly. 

Now, you might not believe this but, I was less than shocked this was happening. I was more resigned than flabbergasted. It was all in an instant or it seemed like it much like his decision (or non-decision) to do it. I think now my mind could only be described as something like a Chihuahua humping. It worked ferociously but almost mechanically. That is to say, as if on autopilot. I remember thinking I should have been shocked but realizing, all too consciously, it not only was happening, but was perfectly possible. There was no surprise. It could all happen like this. All was needed was, doors needed to be open, Chihuahas needed to be loitering where they usually do, and I just needed to be debilitated on the floor.

The rest, no matter how queer or unbelievable, actually was believable. It felt too real. Also, too possible. But even this was not something going on in my brain. It was real. I thought of all this quickly. I mean to say, written down like this makes the thoughts appear labored but in fact they came in a flash. I was not really the author of them. It all just seemed to happen sans the benefit of reflection. It just flowed. Funny how the mind works like that. Quickly, I mean. He finished with me as rapidly as he started but before I could collect myself, I only managed to spy him slipping past the corner of the threshold from whence he came and was out the door again. Not so much as a by your leave. I could hear the little clips of dog talons tickle at each step until they ebbed out of earshot. Cheeky little bastard. He disappeared.

I got better. I gave up rollerblading in the house. I gave it up altogether. I slowed down. I haven’t been flat on my back again since then. Well, if we don’t count sleeping, but this too figures in things. I should say I hadn’t been supine in searing pain of my own making again. Not by the aid of rollerblades, anyway. But something strange happened to me, and I am certain it was a direct cause of that ‘mind fuck,’ that cranial copulation given me that little bastard Chihuaua. It stands to reason that it followed. It stands to reason in my mind, anyway. Ever since the shagging atop my head, an elephant has permeated my life. May be permeated is too strong a word.  I should say he shows up at weird times.

An example is, whenever I become hyper conscious of desiring to capture life in all its intuitive ‘elan vital,’ in its very movement without the inevitability of afterthought getting in the way, the elephant lumbers past causing my mind to reflect. He is always slow and lumbering. I love elephants but I get to wondering if the elephant is aware of this lumbering quality of his and, if so, does he do it on purpose? I like to think, no.  I don’t think he does and, in a moment of clarity, I realize I’m projecting again. Why should I think elephants or Chihuahuas have intentions toward me?  But, though I do think I’m right about this, I also hope I’m right as I don’t want the elephant doing that to me intentionally. I like liking him. I want to like him. I mean, I just really like elephants. He more than likely is not.  This is my objective feeling, anyway.  At least I think so.

Still, he’s now around often. Because of that strange shag given me by that dog---I’m almost sure of it---the elephant is now ubiquitous.  Again, maybe not quite ubiquitous.  Even if so, I must admit, like attempting to prove imperial intentions in a Chihuaha, this cause and effect is a hard thing to prove. This I must admit.  I admit maybe it just feels as if it could be the case but, like I say, it is only an assumption. I’m not so ignorant to know it can be assumed wrongly.  He is around. I should clarify the above. There is something in my psyche, though my psyche doesn’t know it, which seems pure, but only in the sense that my psyche does not know it. This is what makes it pure. I think when I become aware of the purity, it disappears and the wanting of it back again makes it burdensome. This is when the lovely elephant shows up. Once more, I don’t mind him. It’s just that, well, it is hard to explain. I’ll try to give an example.

One early morning I was awake and on my back (I told you I would be on my back again). I lay there on the couch in that sort of middle area between consciousness and non-consciousness. I should say more to the point that fuzziness of consciousness and the edge of not being conscious of the consciousness.  It’s all so damn paradoxical! Believe, me, I know! I lay there, eyes closed, hands clasped on chest like a corpse, when birds outside the window began to sing. There was something---I only say this now in hindsight---where I heard the birds sing but I felt I, the person inside my head, was not the one hearing it. It’s just, there was chirping and there was hearing.  In other words, (again, in hindsight) I just heard the birds without the necessity of being some sort of “I” aware of hearing it. I know who I am right now. But who was doing that listening? And besides, this purity, if it is such a thing, is weird precisely because it becomes a thing. The moment it became “something,” the elephant showed up. He was right there in the living room. Taking it all up, too.  I’m sure you can imagine.  Now here’s the thing (another thing). The moment he was there the bulk of him caused the chirping of the birds, the waves in which their sound traveled, to work around him. That’s just simple physics. The waves became slower. Well, may be in actual fact they traveled farther to get to my ear. I want to stop with this kind of talk as I don’t want to get in to the physics of it. I don’t know enough about it, if I’m being honest. I just know they have to travel around that great big hulk of a body. 

It seemed like it anyway. Yes. It felt like they took longer to get to my ear. And the waiting for the sound of the chirping in turn gave me little pockets of time to think. I suppose that in turn made me realize I was waiting for the chirping. It also made realize I liked it better when I didn’t wait for the chirping. So it gave me time to ponder my past state of mind, the one that didn’t even feel like a state at the time! Too much! It created a boat load of other thoughts, too, but I won’t go in to that. It seems we’d be circling down an eddy if I tried to reduce further and further.  Again, I don’t want to seem bitter. I don’t really think the elephant intentionally interrupted it. I think, in a way, it was my fault, in a sense. It seems to be when that desire got a hold of me to re-live that kind of purity, is when he showed up. I’ve said the same thing about the Chihuahua but, I guess this is another case of just witnessing cause and effect. I can only assume. But, truly, I didn’t mind when he showed up. I felt I’d learned something, though, if you were to ask me what it is right now, I might not be able to say. I did like looking at him.

Which reminds me, there was another time, quite different yet similar to the chirping incident, where the elephant showed up and I decided to drop what I was thinking and give him my attention. This is when I remembered that old Indian parable. You know the one? The one where the group of blind men goes up to an elephant and touches him and they all argue they’re touching a different thing. Apparently, it teaches us that a person can have different perceptions from another person. But, I personally don’t think this is all it teaches. I personally am pretty sure there’s something in there about an elephant being an elephant no matter what single perspective from one person. I might be wrong. That’s what I get, anyway. So, yes, while I had him there I decided to try it for myself. So that one day so much like the bird chirping incident, I waited till dark. I waited until night fell. It would be easier in the dark. I wanted to pretend I was blind. I did cover my eyes with an old scarf but I thought night time would help that along. So I did both. After blindfolding myself I walked up to the elephant very carefully and started stroking parts of the body. This is dangerous, to be sure. But, I did do it. I stroked his tail southward till I came to that little hairy tuft at the end. It was nice. I did the same to the trunk feeling the wrinkled ripples running horizontal across that heavy snout. I felt the side of his torso which was like some lumpy convex bulging submarine. I did it all. I did it all except the tusks. For some reason I held off from touching the tusks out of respect. It was fun. But, here’s the problem. I even hear you saying it. I just now described very well what I was touching. How was it anything like the parable if I can sit here now and tell you what I experienced?

Of course I could be just using my introspection but I remember at the time knowing it was an elephant. Blindfolding didn’t do the trick. Well, yes, like the blind men I also describe what I’m feeling, but I didn’t really learn anything. I think maybe I did a better job at describing but I think I just used more imagination than they did. That’s not a boast. Remember, I did steal their idea. I guess I just already knew the different parts of the elephant. All of him. All from tusk to toenail. I guess prior experience worked with me.  I suppose memory worked with me. Either way, I knew what I was touching. I’m sure of it.  I also got to thinking maybe it’s because I had no one to collaborate with in the exercise. After all, when you think about it, the parable has a bunch of blind men touching the elephant. They work in tandem. I had no one but myself to doubt.  I couldn’t possibly doubt myself. I mean, could I? I’ve seen an elephant before. I couldn’t possibly argue with myself. Imagine me telling me it might not be an elephant after all. There was no one here to tell me differently.  I guess what the blind men learn (by an outside source, mind you) is that they’re blind. I guess what I learned was that I kind of wished I was blind. It could have made it interesting. But, believe me, I don’t really want to be blind. So, as I was saying, the elephant was often there. He was there slowing things down and somewhat vexing me as he did slow things down but, at the same time, not minding it too much. I did learn things.

One last thing. Strangely, he was there in a dream, too. The elephant, I mean. Here’s the weird bit. So was that Chihuahua. This is where I should point out I was on my back again. Of course, in this way, in bed. Where else to dream? One night I dreamt I stood in my kitchen. I’m pretty sure I was content but, well, see, this is a problem already. This is, in a way, kind of like blindfolding myself and touching the elephant. Who do I consult in telling me I was content in the dream? I guess I consult myself right now. But, do I trust the “me” in the dream? Do I trust the “me” now? I guess I have no criteria but myself.  But, I will say, it seemed easier to say I was touching an elephant. No matter. I think I was content in my dream. I was in the kitchen (Jesus! Now who establishes that? We could go on and on!). Well, I’ll continue with it. I was in the kitchen probably looking out the window (at dragon’s flying over a lagoon of fire, or something) when in a sudden that Chihuahua was on my head again. The difference between this and the actual experience I described earlier was that I was standing up in the dream. That and, naturally, it was a dream. There was no aching either. But, there was annoyance. He worked away at the top of my head right there in my kitchen when the scene drastically changed in a flash to the hustle and bustle of a busy street. 

Yes, I was clothed. I almost feel that question upon me and I must answer it. Who wants a cliché when describing a dream?  All different kinds of people walked past me seemingly too busy to notice a Chihuahua humping the hell out of my skull. Everybody just walked by in a hurry, either singly, or in groups ignoring me. I just stood there taking it from this Chihuahua when all of a sudden another group walked toward me. They were all together and laughing and enjoying themselves. What I noticed within that group was an old lover of many years ago. It had been many years since we saw each other. I mean this truly. That thought was not part of the dream. In fact, I will admit, there have been times here and there throughout the years when I’ve closed my eyes and thought of her. There have even been times when I was in that state where the memories were like the chirping of birds. Anyway, in the dream I saw her and her laughing entourage moving my way. She might not have noticed me as she seemed preoccupied with her chums. This didn’t matter to me. I instantly became conscious of the wide waste of years since between us which caused in me a desire to give a good impression. This, especially as it had been so long. It was almost a matter of letting her know what I’d become. I was all right! I am different now. But these thoughts were overrun by the thought of my mussed hair.

The Chihuahua was making a hell of a state of it. I was worried she’d see me so disheveled and think the worst. She would see my hair and not just think the worst right then and there, but she would think the mussed hair was an indication of twenty years! I panicked that this could be the last time to make an impression and my hair was getting worked over like earth in a sandstorm. I tried desperately to fix it, matting it down, working on the part, but the more I did the more that Chihuahua worked at undoing it. The more he and I performed this ridiculous dance, the closer she got to us. The contentedness of the kitchen was now panic. I mean, I wanted to jump out of my skin. And the panic grew as she approached. However, when she was right up on me, the strangest thing happened. Just as she (or I) was within range that reliable old elephant passed between us, as slow and lumbering as he’s always been. He saved me from the embarrassment. He calmed my mind. But, it can never be this clean cut, can it? I’ll tell you it isn’t because I was also really saddened.  She and I did not get to see each other. It could have been the last time. I was torn between a terrible, deep and bottomless longing and the street level self-consciousness of superficial impressions.

Just as the scene went from kitchen to busy street, it in turn went from busy street to a vast and empty dessert. I was surrounded by sand all around. I was surrounded by nothing but sand. The Chihuahua was gone but I instinctively looked down and found myself staring in to a pool of water.  It was a little oasis in the middle of this entire nothingness. I saw my reflection in the pool of water. What I saw was myself with hair clean and tidy sort of like a child whose mother primps her boy on the day of his school picture. This made no impression on me. I looked upward again and saw the elephant in the distance. What I remember then at the moment of sighting him was a strange but intuitive thought that I knew he was an elephant. He was an elephant and nothing else, I told myself so. I remember thinking he is not the sky and he is not the sand, therefore he is an elephant. Just as quickly as I said this to myself he broke apart in to pieces. I was shocked and saddened. I was saddened that is, until I realized he was a cloud. It just dissipated in to other shapes.

I woke up not knowing what to think.  I thought to myself thoughts on the matter will come later. Well, I do remember immediately thinking one thing. It struck me that an elephant turning in to a cloud was not just the stuff of dreams. I mean, that could happen in the experiencing world, too. Just a weird thought on a weird subject. Though I often do think on the times the elephant showed up when he did, and I still often recall my mistaking him for a cloud, I really mull over my touching the elephant blindfolded. It all seemed so strange to come up with such an experiment on myself. I got to thinking how that was sort of like experimenting on your own thoughts. It’s like thinking while studying the thinking. It makes you just want to hear birds chirping. As it is, I now go about my daily life.  I often see that that Chihuahua and when I do, I think of all these things.