12 11 04
Yes. Between meridians I will mark it with this date. I have seen a vision. So many. Always trapped in the three walls of a black box. This time two people meet for a debate. One side of the stage is a table dressed in white prepared for a fancy dinner. Next to that, other side of stage, a rundown bar. The debaters try and prove arguments which are then enacted in various positions on stage. Yes. And what are the arguments? Who is debating? What scenes are playing out?’s love at the white table. A redneck brawl at the bar. The table then becomes the desk of a salesman trying to squeak the last penny out of a working poor schmuck. The bar becomes a counter at a doctor’s office or a department store, etc. The table becomes a place where a contract is signed. All the time the actors are playing out what eventually overlaps into the debaters lives. The things that baiters discuss: 1) international affairs, 2) the economy, 3) domestic issues. Put a twist on it. Give it some pizzazz. Just like the stuff the guy must have been on when he/she designed the cursive Z.
A woman on such and such flight was so confused that she mixed up the signs indicating if the bath stalls are occupied or not. Human intelligence can be measured by the change in airline service the last 30 years. Zero. Zilch. None. How disappointed she will be when she finally realizes the hell she’s landed in is just like the one she left. All those bodies still fucking and she’s waiting in line but doesn’t know it yet. Waiting for what? The dancing men around all corners of her mind. Jiggling something unfamiliar and sing some poem just off key. Oh the battles we must all wage. To get by. And yet we never ask why what where did it all start.