Wednesday, July 15, 2009

If You Ever Wondered...Whatever Became of Me

Throughout history man has taken the burden upon the mantle and made it into a fine source for inspiration. It is winning the battles that we overcome our destiny of the stuff the mantle has aplenty. Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust, to dust you shall return is on everyones epithet. It is that slap in the face, the inevitable reality which faces each one of us; our own mortality.

Looking back on your life, you are indubiously wondering what would life be like if you had taken the road not travelled. Robert Frost knew too well how frosty that road could be, and likely die of exposure from the mere thought. Our instincts are usually survival mode; preserve the body at all costs. We go to great lengths to do this, yet, all our best efforts will not give us a extra moment at the crap table. To win? What?

When we add up all those moments in time that were our lives, will we look back, satisfied that we did all we could to make it better for the fellow traveller? That backseat driver who saved our butt more than a few times? Or do we "look away, look away" every chance we get; our eyes afixed like blanket stares out the rear view mirror?

The theme of this week's short story is Salvation. Already you flip the page, hoping this lecture will be finished, like so many other extinquished things. But there is life in the old spark yet. Maybe not much, but where there is hope there is life. We always had it the other way around! Surprise, the egg did come first.

Yes, I have often "wondered whatever became of you". Living on the air in Cinni must be like breathing the back end of a Detroit automobile. No pun intended. After watching "That 70's Show" and watching "That other, other 70's Show" called, "Cinnicnatti WKRP" (oh geeze I cant even spell it)...I thought about Les Nesman once too often and thought about all those Buffalo TV stations for some reason, like I had this horribly inpertinent ear worm that creeped into my brain.

Yes, I fitted the mould too, but the mold got moldy oldy for this goldy oldy.Seems templates are meant to be broken. Sure the mentor knew this. Geographically speaking. We shared the same country of origin. Not that means anything unless you want it to, and in which case, I have a whole suitcase of similarities bordering on the one inch to the left.

I really thought I was not going to create another glitch by going "back in time" for another days REVIVAL! HALLELUIA!!! Choirs here I come! Maybe there would be found another format other than the tv hologram shoved into my cerebral cortex. Can we break the mold of our structured constraints of walls and images and preprogrammability? One step away from complete robotic mechanism, control often has an odd look to it, wrapped up like Christmas, in packages that lure you like a carrot.

Who really new the air waves could get that cluttered. I sometimes feel like a Pavlovian dog, and that was years ago. How far that dog has come! And how far we have gotten from the natural path that was once beneath our feet. Somehow, back, then, before the shift, the glitch, the automatic pilot, we were free.

We will never know that path which had been so smoothly removed without us noticing much at all. We do see the odd semblance of ordering, Ok, you go with you, you, yah, you,get the over there you position placement. Are you even aware of the motives that drive you? Are they know? Are they manipulated? By whom? Certainly like the great Paul Gaugin you wish to be removed to some island somewhere to recount those blessed days when you felt assuredly free. No wonder! Of all the sham-game played by the movers and shakers; men-creators are never god-creators. This penultimate construct, by some construction crew of unknown entity, there is this somewhere ordering this, ordering that, knowing full well, the limit to their own mortality, and therefore their penn and teller control of the universe.

And then, yet again, who am I to echo my complaints from the wall imposed in front of my face? This neural deposit of some form of semblance as if prefigured destiny had anything to do with it! What if I did find that key to the universe, probably no one would care as the high price place upon this monopoly of reality has more value than all the Fort Knox's put together!

So I can wonder what became of you, but I know full well what did happen when the push came to shove and you were ordered to take your roll on the conveyor belt. You may have left me holding the bag, not understanding how one minute all was fine and dandy and the next minute you were out the door shuffling off to Buffalo and beyond! Oh the great beyond I will never see with you. Since each of us only goes their separate ways, away, don't we? If not, I have something of yours. You may want to collect it one day once I have shuffled off this mortal buffalo thing.

It still amazes me, this "mais-ing" thing, this corn, this control mechanism which gave you the right to disengage the heart once in full throttle. These analogies may seem contrite, but actually they are a form of contrition which I have forgotten to do over the years. The Act of Contrition. Yes, to say I am sorry, if whatever I did, or didnt do, offended you so bad, that you had to run all the way to God knows where. I dont.

Anyway, since I will never understanding the completedness or the complexity of the big picture, as you 50's patriarchs like to call it (yes Dad I am talking to you). You will never, never, never know the bottom of my heart pain line that isnt going down line anytime soon, well maybe. I could sell out, it isnt really that bad to become one of the chosen, now is it? The rest go to hell I suppose, and that means me, so if you find yourself with a hot tail wind someday, lets just say, I am giving you a bit of a boost to fly, that is all. Nothing more. I hear alot of aviation pioneers come from the old Buckeye, and I guess, in cross examined crosshairs, the target was not on me. Maybe a good thing. I got to live another day, sucking back all that clean-livin' air from that clean livin' state. State of the Art, really. How smooth, how cool, how, so unlike me.

Cloaked and maligned in its proximital equitorial plane ridge, the strategic firm is firmly committed to making every day better for all, or is it? How would we know, this thing so big got way out of hand and into "de bush". Ok. Maybe too shining bright too be purely solar heating array. As light shines so brightly, bouncing rays alight as the solar shields that shielded me to the knowledge of what is behind the sun and behind me, pushing me forward into that hot plasma ball, I do not feel too bad now. I know my destiny!

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