Living with Wildlife
I decided to remove my innards, to clip and trim where necessary. "Boy, this is easy" I quibbled to myself as I cut through layers of skin, muscle and fat. Clipping and cutting, I soon removed the ailing parts adjoining section to a plastic container, affixed by it's side to a pushpinable wall. After resealing the gap in my midsection, I began to push and probe the assembled organage, quickly coming up with a strategy to better the ailment. "Easy!" I thought. "A matter of simple plumbing." It's pinkish - grey mass looking not unlike the pipe arrangement beneath the sink that I repaired last week.
It's looking like it's starting to dry around the edges.... Maybe I should put it into "Saline Solution", oh right, a saline solution.... Salt, water measured out to the exact recipe of the ocean. What would that be? I wondered, feeling a bit slow. Still wondering, I spotted the yogurt container from yesterday's consumption. Zeroing in on it's label, the letters spelled out, "97% salt free." O.K. that's 97 % water and 3% salt. O.K. I was starting to feel dizzy as I stood by the sink. "Probably the math" I thought, as I rinsed the quartsized container, only then noticing how dirty my fingers were and "oh shit, everything is dirty around here. Isn't that why operations of this sort are usually performed in hospitals?" I said to myself, as dizziness gave way to panic. Maybe this DO IT YOURSELF thing has gone a bit too far.... Oh well."
I carried the quartsize container, full of my saline solution back to the waiting, potential sausage skin, the lapping of the liquid around the lip making me sea-sick. Sausage skin is right, the whole thing was beginning to look just like a dried out old sausage.
I began thinking about time and ambulances and it occurred to me that this might be the day I die....
We carried the old woman up to the heaven on an old wooden chair. It broke, she hit the marble and shattered, like a porcelain doll, and it was only her desire to the shinning lights of some vague impression that never was, my sweet darling whom I've never none, you are my mother and I've stolen your compounds to make me strong. But I've failed, as I am weak and easily corrupted. The act or concept of ritual with it's soothing beauty on reality is as foreign to me as your shattered bones, no prayer or meditation can quell my desire for impossibility. Are you, or have you been real? I know you are. I am lazy, to involved with my own orifices, my well beeing, let's carry you up; let's know the essance of guilt; let's know that it always ends in self deprecation. We are floating, and you are dissolving. We have lost our meaning, our meaning, as of spirit has been lost thru countless regenerations. Absorbed by selfishness, my desire, only a frame of mind, my heart a cold bigot.
Julius Klein 1 5 95
Morning, April 3, 1987
What is this frustrated illusion? I am awake after dozens of scrambled episodic attempts, showered by the unending rays of the television set. The car must be moved by 11 am. The red glowing numbers of the alarm clock illuminate 11:05, the cost of the delay is $45.00. I assemble myself, tumble down the stairs, a large dog, smelling of death, growls and blocks my way, fear of dog bites, rabies does not connect, I can only associate with one focus, must move the car, must beat the traffic cop, most not let girl friend/ living mate, who is out of town, think I'm complete fluff, I accidentally step, Hard on the mongrel's paw, he yelps and scampers off. Doors open, I'm out on the street, Salvation no ticky. A few spins around the block yields a spot, five blocks away in the next county.
The chore is done, untied shoe laces flap in the sun. The key with the blue tape opens the door. The mysterious dog is now my friend, I offer my hand, he sniffs it.
Back in the apartment, despite obligations, I sit at my table and open a book of ancient fables, where I read words long ago shed, until my bowels inform me that all is well. Then I go and do my part as a biological sifter.