Justin Stone's creekbed

songs, prayers, poetry, stories, art, photographs, moving pictures, fondnesses, tall-tales and meditations

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Location: missouri, el paso

The Anterior Insula and Hwy W

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

and if you are not careful, if you are not taking care, if you have in any way ceased to care, the bustle will get you in the morning, it will get to you, the hurry-up will hinder, flummox, action will be confounded, the mind confused, thus the lurching paralysis, the stunted endeavor, the lies in easy reach, words unconscious like belch, the lie and excuse and complaint, the harried indignity, the sweaty neck; you cannot feel frustration for it just is. waking is like stroke, a guy used to tell me, you come to suddenly, surge, the systems are shocked, and fail. keening is the noisome world. it will grit your teeth, tighten your chest, squint your eyes, shrink your face, put a neck in your neck in your neck, sag your carriage, distend your guts and erode your constitution. and you will shake at your very core, you will shake and the shaking will eventually weaken the foundation, and you will be a landslide, then a landfill; it will all go, sudden and swift, and then it will all sit, piled up in an unsettled mess. an erosion of will, free thinking; an erosion of endurance, clear thinking; an erosion of reserve, style and grace. in lieu of wit—in lieu of wits—you will tell dirty jokes about frustrated people, awful stories about awful people, and you will laugh too loud, too abruptly. certain jokes are not funny, jokes like the one my uncle used tell about the fish that lives in his chest, this fish that cannot breathe unless it is wet, and thus he is drowning this fish everyday, so as to breathe and keep that smell out the chest, so as to keep the scales from hardening and drying, so as to not choke on the beached dead carcass of the fish. he has a smile audible like an avalanche to bury these thoughts, and the laugh it too tears the day and is done, loud and crashing and then empty, as in explosion. and i came upon him one night late in the kitchen and he was leaning against the open door of the refridgerator, he was slumped against the open fridge, his head against his arm against the freezer compartment, and he was staring toward his feet, breaking eggs on the floor, one egg after another, slowly, methodically and without care, small white eggs dropped and destroyed, he was reaching into the fridge, taking an egg, and dropping, reaching, taking, dropping, and the yolk, shells and mess gathered in a growing pile beneath him, and he looked up at me after a while and he was not awake and he said toward me but not to me in particular he said life is hard.

a smile ought to be without sound,
and a laugh without end.

i will believe in you believing, friend;
i will believe in you getting up and going out the door,
a full breath in your chest.