Sitting in Peets sipping from my hot cup of morning courage; coffee-laced with cocoa and cinnamon, doused with cream. And one me looking out from inside; and another me looking in from outside. The former with my eyes wide open, staring at sunlight as it blares its trumpet off the windows of parked and passing cars alike. The latter with my mind’s eye, swiveling in its socket trying to decide if it is a thought it’s peering at or just another crumbling brick in this deconstructed wall of self-consciousness.
The people around me are drowning in their own cascading synapses, or maybe they’re just in the midst of crushing some kickass candy on Facebook, their focus is intense; the baristas are talking about city rats they have encountered on their daily walks; the speakers are streaming jazz – bee-bop – and I’m just sitting here waiting for inspiration. Of course, one will never receive it while waiting for it. It’s the watched pot refusing to boil paradox. Inspiration likes to ambush you when you are least prepared. Preferably in the middle of a long steamy shit or when you’ve lathered up your hair in the shower like a rabid dog being shot by Atticus in street heat and estrus. Never when you’re at the helm, fingertips poised at the ready to pounce thought and tame it into type.
Should I be sitting on the dock of a bay? It’s a better place to watch the tide roll away… I’m just wastin’ time anyway… I wonder if the Peet’s patrons suspect that I have posted their picture? I hope they aren’t wanted by the FBI.
(Ah… yes… just read three posts on the the cybersewer that is Facebook’s newsfeed. “I’ve got clowns to the left of me… jokers to the right and here I am… stuck in the middle…” – Without you. )
Oh fraptious day! Looks like Stanley Kubrick was the real Nostradamus, given the current state of world affairs what with us deploying that old MOAB like a giant moneyshot in that Navy Seal Joseph M Schmidt III’s bukkake home-porn flicks and Kim Jong-un parading supreme leader intercontinental cock to great fanfare down Korean streets, Dr. Strangelove is starting to look like a time-traveller’s account of the end of the world. Grab someone you love and kiss them sweet and long, folks… that’s about all you can do about it.