The other week, before the big rainstorm, and electric malfunction at the RV Park...there were several of us, actually 'connecting', bonding, becoming 'maybe friends'.
Do you realize how wonderfully difficult that is, how great the odds of that perfect circle, to sit around us and bring us together? Then came the 'electrical phukup', and they screwed the circle and moved us all.
didn't just move us either. They moved us six different ways to Sunday. Now we are each separated by distance, sorted into various corners of the RV Park. The chemistry is ruined. The connection is gone, link broken.
We wave across the park at each other, but it isn't the same. It's hollow now, and we await the new paradigm. It sucks, and I wonder...are the weaver's of fate, the phuk'n little green dudes in their stealth craft, 'smiling', at the chaos they created.
I try to look at it another way, too...'new combinations', new spinning's of life's kaleidoscope, new links, but not our choice...never our choice. Their's! Their experimentation's, their lightning's in a bottle, poking's in a petrie dish...but they hurt us down here.
They hurt us good, and they don't care, and are never answerable. It's so easily said...'It's just life', but don't say it. You don't know life or death or love, from a crack in the asphalt! None of us do. Closest we can come, is together, and now...'we're not'.
Well, whatever...at least my 'sausage muffin' is the same...dry as a desiccated dog turd, with melted yellow 'processed plastic'. Blast the arches, bring down the bridges, kick out the dam's...piss on the witches, and make me one with everything!
Amen!
Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico
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