It’s ridiculous how slow the speed of sound is from the moment I have a thought in my head, ’till it hits my tongue. As if it must come in from another universe.
It’s like it has to pass through some sort of refractaling filter somewhere along the way, because it often comes out all wrong from whence it started. I become almost paralyzed at the thought, reverting to silence.
I’ve tried being a Zen Monk, with the hopes that if I sent out only a single photon at a time it would make things clearer.
But things still got as muddled as when I was a speedball living on a tropical beach in my ’20’s, when I lived on 3 hours sleep and ate books for lunch.
Reclusive, or hedonistic, everything goes through the refractaling filter, and my life, it seems, must be lived in some parallel universe of space and time to where my thoughts exist.
Muddling along, thought and word, both of us, in city and in town, alone, or in family – carried along by this third entity – my body – who seems to both love life, and yet, can’t wait to die.
It is the energy source of my existence, demanding constantly to be well-fueled and cared for – precocious in it’s single-mindedness – all it seems to think about is eating and drinking and shitting and fucking.
The three universes – the Holy Trinity – thought, word, action – and me, a middle-aged man, who still can’t even juggle three little oranges picked up off the kitchen table.