ART
|I discovered an engraved Zippo lighter in a dusty Saigon history museum cabinet.
“Most people are born alive and then slowly die. I was born dead and then came to life.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” said Laughter Therapy, an antidote to the illusion of suffering.
I rolled snake eyes in life’s crap game. Reptilian id brain matter shredded old skin and identity theories. Retinas discerning space-time energy as light wave particles travelled on microscopic fibers to the cerebral cortex where data is received and analyzed for meaning. Meaning is a truth-value. Interpretation.
“Truth has few friends and they are suicides,” said Fernando Pessoa author of The Book of Disquiet.
Overloaded synapses crashed in psychotic bliss. Interpretation demolished nonrenewable resources in space-time fourth dimensions. You enter another dimension beyond sight and sound.
My hourglass sand approaches empty. I reversed it catching up to fiction-memory and truth-story. Weave on.
Leaves left winter’s tree in an airborne tag dance. They do not fall far from the Tree of Life. Frayed Tibetan Lung-Tao prayer flag horses beamed air current prayers. Perception and sensation ceased. I dissolved in the wake. Up.
“Time is a flock of nightingales,” said Albert Einstein. He added one plus one - “Experience is your education. Everything else is just information.”
A pulsating vein needle sang disconnected photons.
A three-act Greek play craved characters.
Her daughter in intensive care sang, “I feel free,” while carving her death mask.
ART - Adventure, Risk, Transformation
Laos