Thel the Truth

Point One: You feel it lightly, hardly invasive, wishing for metal veins instead or dual exhaust, something you could put a wrench to...chickens clucking about the cheap pine feeder that Mildred kicked and split in a mad fit of sex and booze... the arm of a lab coat, the eternal world stretched to oblivion like stockings of tender white light... they forget the incident of swords, the sweet and macho young girl reminding you about her Discordian wedding, the bread beatings that left her a little sore even though they didn’t hurt at the time... the tattoo ritual at the parlor, ears ringing right proper from the buzzing of the needle, just the green outline of the golden apple... your own back violated similarly, moustache rubbing against the vinyl table...

Point Two: The colors in the room melt like globs of acrylic from godly tubes, hands start to forget the correct strokes of the fuzzy square of flesh– get it purr just the right way, but now can’t keep track of the three of them rotating in the speckled space about a common axis... “that’s the golf club now” then laughter from your right (only wrong it seem to misuse appliances that way, so you imagine– that is what’s with the laughter isn’t it?)... you only picture chess pieces sliding about the black and white checkered marble, stained and crusted from years of over-zealous coffee breaking free from precarious cups, mostly the pawns– pronounced as the knights may be, so like the horse (as any horse head is, right?) That lived in the pen among clumps of dirt kitty corner to Kidney Johnson’s old backyard... “why such a long face?” this perfectly unsettling timing on her behalf almost sets you into a fit, only you can’t seem to express it even if you wanted to heart that way cranked up beating have to breathe fast and heavy like a maniac and any minute thinking about the front door having to bolt upright and get out for some O2 less offensive to the spirit, that exact moment echoing back over your head caught in one moment some fucking time fart feeling of the exact right time and place for those two things to converge– probably thousands of others if you could only learn to pay attention (like the meaning behind green panties anyone?)– until it seems that nothing is an accident in a good way sort of right place right time, and else an abomination that couldn’t easily be lived down... at once it occurs to you at a new glance that the chess pieces are unevenly carved and not even laid out in a sensible way in the squares, somehow the red-toothed grin looming about the board in a frightening and clear indicator of how malicious intent can come to make chess pieces on a chess board look out of place– then quick but bright lightening flash about how it’s been about the current you’ve been in the whole time, but it’s gone dashed off into the air orange and green astral butterflies and with little capacity to form a net, all before you get a hold of it visually... “thanks to gardens and to holy beans” oh love of the world if only you can receive what you have...

Point Three: It comes to you a fully formed and seemingly geometrically perfect egg (hands still barely cooperating), still not sure what’s inside, electric pulses tingling ecstatic expectation... somewhere in your imagined periphery something sexy is happening, panties down, legs opening at the knees, good slow fuck simultaneous to some future moment, butt happily in the air visibly moist, nice without being too distracting until considered and the Taoist cliche occurs beautifully between her labia major, your whole life running like the river of the vaginal canal... feeling cold and wet outside the waters near dusk kind of lonely and gorgeous in a solemn way, remembering dad’s fishing pole arched in a J shape, pulling up those rich salmon, you just wanting to get back in the water, let it carry you belly up, happy to let it do so... “knight kingside, your move” only the move will make itself through you, happy as you are amongst crusty coffee stains and uneven pieces in some cases chipped away, fully formed complete set or not it was some forces at play, some choices to make even if the metal gears in your head helping to move exhaust through a metal respiratory system and entire universe taken all together made it a point shrinking infitesimally into irrelevance the fact of being able to observe and describe it in those terms made it just as infinitely lovely and enjoyable until ascension by descension, not perfect often more like the squared ovals of a cubist painting, the various triangles intersected... “it would have to be red and blue of course” damn she should stop doing that, the thought already loosed in your head before you can chastize it to oblivion for failing to conform to your profound realizations, before you even come back into the herenow with a chicken picking lightly at your temple more tickle than anything, leading you to see how far ahead of yourself you’ve gotten, hatching your eggs before you counted them, feeder still in need of repair, tools themselves to attend to until inch by inch you get out of the chair, without an anxiety attack as you had previously thought might be the case, and commit to starting from the beginning...