Peach naked. The river and the rock

There are those that say being awake would become normal after a while and perhaps even mundane. I wouldn’t know of course, I’ve never been awake long enough to find out…

Image by Jonny Lindner from Pixabay

A warrior spread thin and half way eye rolling in the heave and philosophically deep into the next wave coming of all that was coming was crying in the rain and paying to Jesus all his suicidal prayers, and saying over and over: I’m the arrow that heals, and by god I shall do it.

Far too close to him in the next bed was a sorry story no one would ever read, and breathing some last sorrows of all the rules they’d ever known, and groaning, groaning fathomly known deep in the remembering of all that made him happy where he found he was the monster in his own soup and naked as a peach and was secretly phoning up groupies united to come over and make use of the record player, and break out the gin, and thinking that simple things made him happy, like a new life exploring all that there is and knowing nothing more than the moment happening; and memories of all his glory joys gone by, and, god, where are you.

Cannon balls, baby; works every time. It’s the secret, said the bed groaning under all the weight.

But not everyone is ten feet tall in the saving, some of us have slipped discs, said the Borneo masters psychologist from somewhere near the back.

I was dancing on top of the hill around the fire all that was my death, a suicide pact, until the groupies came and looked to see the sights of all they were called to, and laughing, until I came down from where I was dancing to fly beneath my height into the batshit ballroom of some groupies mania. But I may as well not, for they were mere rock students out on a midnight climb to the heavens.

Well, I was once one of them, but now I find myself in a bed away over in the far corner of anything that’s going down.

Oh woe is me if I can’t fly away from it all somehow.

I know how to do the tadpole dance, said the in-tray of Babcocks and Wilkins, vultures united, or solicitors to the unwary where the August bones of juniper were laying in wait to take any last testament.

I can’t say I’m surprised I said out of hand, is it for the cross-breeding purposes only that you lend your name, or a draft proposal in the making?

When no answer came I looked around for some red ruby lips to come my way, but on seeing none I turned the light out and went to sleep.

Woke up with a concept alive in my mind, an answer, a two part wish: take the one or take the other, but then as I carried on waking up I forgot it, it just disappeared in the mist of my rising thoughts, and then all the other stuff came along like a circular clockwork train loaded up to the gills with the past momentum where one wrong step could see it all pile up, almost as if the universe was saying: your soul path is open, but you're going to get juiced in it, for there's no turning back the clocks, and no matter what you do that's what you'll do until there is no more doing.

Oh lady light on the brimstone I would know more…

Do you wonder if you're worth anything at all in this life? Is the answer then that to the very air you breath you are no less a wonder than the stars in the heavens, for without you there would be no wonder, and for all the beauty in life, who would appreciate it if you were not here?

Is it all a dream then, and are my intentions of no matter, no matter now I intend them?

And then I got to wondering how much I’m being brainwashed by the machines. They're very clever you know; one moment I see them for what they are, and the next I’m too dumb to see anything for the looking no matter how I look.

Of all the shit places I could have ended up in I ended up here, I said as I was lying prone a moment later as the moments passed, and me lying on my death bed in the darkened room with the barred windows staring back at me.

I was normal, and twitching in the dungeon, and dear as fuck, and thinking: how far do you have to grow out of your neighbourhood before you become a separate branch… as far as a rock perhaps that thrives in the river, or another memory as an entity from somewhere else.

Okay, so I’m dead on the slab, but that doesn’t mean that I’m anyone’s to be taken so easily, intemperance aside, and I sure do look good in black when I want to…

Something must have brought you here…

Time and tide of course, time and tide…

Oh come now, said my death far too close, this is the only place in all the universe where the gates will open for you and let you in, after you’ve been absolved of course.

Oh for the love of god please call a priest to give me absolution.

There’s one outside waiting for his moment.

Then let him in so I can have some peace.

Not until you confess all your sins.

But that would take forever.

Forever waits for you, and the priest stays outside.

But you must let the priest in for I have not much longer I whispered.

There will be no priest until you have confessed in full.

You are so cruel and heartless. I don’t think I like you much at all.

I will wait here until you make up your mind.

Was I the rock then that the river was wearing away until nothing was left, not even a memory?

I was slipping away fast and needed the last rites, what with me being Catholic an all, and religious to boot.

As I looked around in desperation at my neighbours and wanting to be absolved for all I’d done wrong I saw only death coughing up all its sins.

Oh Jesus I groaned, how many dead bodies are there?

Remembering back to the early days I found my life flashing by like some acid trip booming from the corners of my life and spacing in front of my eyes, the garden full of contrasts, the holy grail of all that could ever be for me, my life ladies and gentlemen, as it passed before me with no one to judge it but me.

How could I not accept it?

What was the objection?

Did I not live it for all it was worth?

And what about the chains I wore that hindered me at every step?

The time for questions has gone. It is now time for answers…

Time is a river that no rock can halt…

Well, it must be visiting time I thought as old shabdkosh and the fallen angel bumbled in through the swinging doors and looked around to see where I was.

Pulling the blanket up to my chin I tried to hide, but it was no use, they spotted where I was and advanced towards me like the deadly duo on a mission.

I’d put the record player set to repeat as much as often, and never mind the jellied eels, I’m not doing any more push-ups, for the last couple of years or so, every time I've done push-ups for real my body told me I didn't need to do them anymore, and put me in bed for months.

I'm beginning to listen to it, tired of being an invalid.

Strange thing is though, I can ride a bike like a caterpillar turning into the sun on a summer's day all night long; strange that, don't you think?

Run to run groove mate in check soon, back at you said the fallen angel hovering close.

When you have advanced as far as you can go, turn left, if you don’t turn right, said the mud out men on the night coming from my outside as old Shabdkosh and the fallen angel kept advancing towards me.

I crossed myself and turned purple and believed in Jesus with all my might and called out for another pizza and maybe a double gin on the rocks.

The head nurse, god bless her blessed heart, who was called Ashereh, turned her antennas my way; so I rolled over and fell out of bed, took my smokes with me and rolled up under the bed.

One last smoke for all my sins

One last smoke before I go

Maybe they’re all in it together I thought as I lit up my smoke…

Faith, as unbecoming as purgatory was under the other bed and pouting her lips and applying her lipstick to make her face red, and was looking luscious as pearls for the swine and beckoning me to come closer.

I was grooving away in the corners of my life, and almost dead, and happened to notice this lusciousness that reminded me of a red wine sold out of the cheap shops where midnight blows its horn to be heard.

Well, I was off the boats for the night, so why not?

Sinking and swimming in the extremes of the smoochgrass I became all my dreams and paid my way in all of them and was only fooled by a couple of cave bears that moved my way for a while, and stayed with me for quite a while, but I outlived them; and now I am free of them and learning how to swim.

Old Shabdkosh himself and the fallen angel were standing at the foot of my bed and wondering where I’d gone to, and I was not about to tip them off.

The head nurse looked down on me and said: it is now time to go back to bed, and die.

I looked around me wickedly for something to save me and saw two pills almost within my grasp, and as I reached out for them to let me get them before she got me, I prayed to god to save me again.

I’m here said old shabdkosh, but it will take more than a prayer to be saved.

It certainly will, said the fallen angel beside old Shabdkosh with his eyes glowing.

Oh, I was naked as a peach, and splendidly so, and still alive, and waiting for the summer rain for one last moment, and going insane all over again, so that I broke the sound barrier digging for the well that was never going straight, and endured onwards towards my doom that was forever looming closer in the river of time where I was the rock being worn away to nothing.

End of part 42

Images from Pixabay