Thu, 19 May 2005

we shall be changed
It seems inevitable that, given the directionand momentum of my life, I will eventually become a bum. Years ago, I used to talk to a homeless man who, like a troll, lived in the steam tunnels beneath the bridge connecting the art building to the union, and he told me that becoming homeless was never a decision made n an instant, but a stage in a long-term process, a process he was convinced wasn’t yet finished with him. This is where the Homeless Writer’s Coalition in the old book comes from. The homelessness isn’t particularly interesting, except in the sense that it would allow me to become the thing I have always wanted to be, which is a street preacher. My twenties, I see now, were a time of building my mythology, of doing the foundational work and burning it into my consciousness, so that it springs to hand even when drunk or high or sick unto death. My major impediment is my nervousness as to performing in public, and so as an experiment I got in my new car and drove to a place where I didn’t know anybody (Davenport), parked the car, walked around in the cold for a little while, drinking fortified wine, until I ended up outside a bar on Locust Street and started in on how not everyone had to die, and how they kept that information from us, but only because the medical condition of life after death was a fundamentally flawed concept, and how the ongoing conflict in the Middle East was orchestrated by UN athiests in an attempt to destroy holy relics imbued with cellular wisdom which, like the sexual exploitation of angels during the fourth and fifth centuries, has been sullied by the black magic of money and second history which stains the eyes of newborn babies except for those it cannot stain who are sacrificed in surgical theatres beneath every hospital with the severed organs flung to ladies-in-waiting in the balcony who then throw handfuls of rose pedals (in an re-enactment of Teresa’s vision of the visitation of Mary) upon the doctors, at which point people stopped walking past me and pretending not to notice and ended up chasing me off the block, at which point I went back to my car and drove home. It’s a start.
(12:26.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #