that bumptious meliorism…

Rapid Eye Phantasm

The book of the moon, la lune, jejune, da do run run run… do do do de da da da, that’s all I want to say to you

Words run-on, days and months run-on, one day we’ll look back and see these two years (2020-2021) ran-on… I’ve got a feeling, a feeling deep inside, oh yeah

Ev’rybody had a hard year… Ev’rybody put their foot down…

Habilité, habillement, hibernation, and Hibernian spelling, the transmuted emissions from space — “the final frontier,” according to some; “is the place,” according to another. It’s for cosmonauts, astronauts, and Major Tom who met his end floating in his tin can — that was four years ago! What else happened four years ago? Hmm…

Oh that bumptious meliorism of yours. Nothing has worked out. We are at the precipice, staring down into the void, and still you persist in your delusion. And now…

I’m inside the subway train looking out at the peloton of people crowded on the platform waiting to get in, and toward the rear of that mass, head towering above the others, is Glen Campbell dressed as Joe Buck from Midnight Cowboy — all fringed out. I think to myself, too bad it isn’t Lou Reed. I’m inhabiting this world I’ve never been in before, it’s 1969! My thoughts are somehow transmitted to everyone on the subway train, and to those waiting on the platform, including Glen Campbell (as Joe Buck) still waiting to get on the train. As the doors open and the mass of people move in and out of the subway car, I dematerialize and am now hovering somewhere outside the train looking in. There’s a group of soldiers, on furlough, fully decked out in their desert camouflage and weapons inside the train. They yell in unison, “Hey, it’s Lou Reed. Lou Reed of the Velvets. VU. The Velvet Underground.”

Glen Campbell laughs good naturedly and says, no, he’s Glen Campbell — the Wichita Lineman…

The scene goes black. Nothing more heard. Nothing more seen.

This is Fall, at 5:22 pm, on 10/04/20. Jamaica Plain, MA. (4/31)

“Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality’s dark dream!”

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge / “Dejection: An Ode”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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