Hardworlders! Jesus. The Bender. The High logic is upon me and it is perched upon its Unmovable Rock, staring me down one mere inch in front of my swollen face and yes, goddamn, there's its creaking clenched teeth and I am right now taking in a deep inhalation of it's characteristic stench which is.. just... deliriously desirable and one just has no time, no time AT ALL to ask the kind of sensible questions a wise man must ask. Such as: Should one spend money for these things? Perhaps you'd be more alluring to all those females with your wits and your looks unmarred? And, most profound of all, Wirtala, why don't you avoid potentially dying? Drowning in these little whirlpools in what, ostensibly anyway, is the toast of the civilized World?
But the impulse is, well, pulsating and the drive to the Light On High is on. No time for any doubt. Stimulus, response: This is the wise way of the June Bug. And June Bugs may be the purest life form The World has ever Known. As in: There's the goal, I know where it's at, however, I don't know exactly how to work this sweet gilded chariot God gave me. So it's all vigor and faith and impulse and into the sky I go! Lot's of competing stimuli. Man. Look at all them lights! I want them all. Alright. Let us not dither here, Christ, no dallying, let's get into all these dazzling claims. And....YOUCH! DAMN! Alright. Settle down. Shake it out. Ouch. No matter, though. Still going for it. No real harm done. Nothing damaged. Just a bit shocked. A bad decision, running that route. Plenty of alternatives, plenty of other things to blindly charge into. I got this. Please do not worry. Your hero is still barreling through time and space, mind welded to it's eventuality. It's all eventual. Right? This shit will pan out. Just gotta systematically eliminate the alternatives through my special idiot, deductive process. Honor thy process! Rest assured, though, I will arrive at my destination. No idea what to do upon said arrival, but I will concern myself with these trivialities when the time is right. Please, let us not frazzle the mind of this noble bug. This trajectory was laid out smooth and tall by The Architect. Though the lumps do hurt. Man. Seriously.
An adage that should be common wisdom. The process bit.
Will it make it? The Wisdom?
And hey, Hardworlders, we are all noble beasts, yes? Jesus. Look at me. I feel ridiculous. Here I am, blathering non-stop and I have turned a blind eye to your needs. What a goddamn awful host. Sorry about that. Joel, take that coat off. Daug, I am getting your drink ready as we speak. Don't worry buddy, pouring 'em stroooong tonight. Why so tense? Yes, I know. It is indeed frosty out there. How about a nice, hot mulled wine to unravel with? Joel, yes, of course I am. I have total confidence that your written word will burn the very iron of our surroundings. Your recitatations never leave a dry eye in the house. Hot heat. But...perhaps you should belt this out to me in a free fall. A dive in the sky. No constraints there, brother. A thought. But a lot of preperation. Fuck it. No Sweat. We will tear down the Universe with Your Verse. The Triumph of Beauty. Graybillian Electric Eloquence! I've always considered that your nickname anyway. Privately, of course. Anyway. Let it all come down. Let me hand this beverage to Daug. Ok. Is that ok? The beverage? To your refined sensibilities? Sophisticated man in an international town. That's how I describe you to all my new acquaintances. What? Yeah, they're ok. Ain't no legends, though. But they'll do. Only one Daug on this rock. Wait. Really? Why Jeff, you never expressed the sentiment that you've been an opera aficionado. It's all making so much sense now. I totally get it. Well, since you offered, Joel well, YES, I'll do a line. Why not? We are friends. Friends in the best of times, no less. Let's get appropriate. Yes, Jeff. Of course, please procure a pipe. Oh wait- I gotta an apple right here. Cool! We can do just fine with this little guy. Yeah, I was gonna eat it but, you know, I'll get another...
Oh sure. Why not? I am enjoying the good times. Yes, and with the most elegant company at that. So alright. Say. Guys. I'm gonna youtube some Zeppelin. It's what I'm into these days. Everybody's got there predilections, right? Daug, you can attest. AC/DC . Man. God. Dialectics. Hither and Thither. These poles. Let's occupy the strange zone in the middle. Our Anyway. But hey. Once more. Devolving. Getting tangenty.
Best to stay on task.
These New York City Benders. They have a way. A different process that operates with an ease that just catapults you effortlessly one day into the next. A vile magic carpet ride. Vile! Though also quite charming. You just...slide onto a different wavelength. Justification is easily obtained. No problem on that front. One second, you're ordering your first shot and first thing you know, then you're waking up in a pool of chicken blood and sweat and your throat's all raw and the ravages of the night are just staring at you in the mirror. Nick Nolte comes to mind. All in all, a pretty good time. Except for Thanksgiving. That one got treacherous. I did away with any wisdom I happened to have on me. Seemed smart at the time? Downward Death Spiral? Anyway, I strangled that deaf, dumb and blind underground animal. My Conscience. A very particular brand of instant violence and yes, as it happens, ah contrare bonjour, one can destroy matter. Soul matter. You can eliminate it with the Great Hammer. My Lord, how I wielded That Hammer of the Gods. I rode my ship to new lands. I am my Overlord. Sitting right on Myself. Yikes! I've been through some weird one's, believe it, but I was very sore after that one.
Like a little band I follow called Led Zeppelin, I come from a long line of no-quitters, Hardworlders. I ascended that bucking bronco the next night. Wild fury in the streets, I. Unlike Zeppelin I lack a personalized airplane. Or a limo, with a driver.And, to my great shame, I have never inserted a mudshark into a beautiful woman. But hopefully, with a little time and great compassion from the two of you I will rectify all these shortcomings. Ultimately, all I ask, Sweet Lord: Just keep me out of the slammer.
But hey, the task?
It is, however, at this moment, very difficult to acsertain said task. The modern predicament. What a weird one. What is, indeed, Our Task? What is the goal after all those glorious hurdles? Happiness? Signifigance? As in: Legacy? The great cumulative result of all our idiot futile endeavours? No. Try as we might, and, Lord, we so goddamn go for all that, we are anchored. One whimpery perspective, scraping our thoroughly debased teeth and brain matter against the Whole. How can we win? Where is it all gonna go?
Where indeed?
All we got, just like everybody else, is the next day.
But I'm starting to understand that, yes, I might have to start scrawling pentagrams and slitting suitable animal throats and orgasming at a desirable and strategic time to truly engage with the the dark and totally mystical Universe. A lot of hoops to soar through, a hell of a lotta occult connections to make. Very detailed oriented, all this. Dark logistics, yo. But evidently kinda necessary for the Big Stage.
One has to to what one has to do, right?
So there it is. I am ascending into the Forbidding Above via the Gilded Chariot of booze and blind hope. The Gifts from God. Right into the beautiful blue sky. Lumps, dumps and chumps in my wake.
Man. I should get some real substance into all this. New York life, etc. But, then again, I left everybody way back in time on the ferry in Whittier. I have to catch both of you up on that shit. But evidently, that story is gotta wait. Fuck. Sorry about that. Tales to be told. The mental machine is pumping out jams that can, at the very best, be termed uneven. Can't quite rule this orchestra. Unruly. Undisciplined. Chock full of heart, though. How do you make it to Carnegie Hall? I have this rock and roll to deal with. And this manic alcoholism. My Grand Style. Bejeweled, bewildered and totally bonkers. King of the Elegant Pageant. In this asylum.
Christ. This entry is full of holes. No central narrative. Barely any point. But when you're in in the midst of The Bender these kind of concerns just get tossed out the window. They get defenestrated. Concern in general, chucked out with nary a backward glance of the mind's eye. But hey, here it is, nonetheless, Hardworlders.
And thus and thus. And a little more thus.
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