by

Hey Life, you still there?

I owe life an apology. I am not sure if it would indulge an explanation?

Here is our life.
It’s analogous with our heartbeat.
It’s reliable, dependable and ready for anything every day.
But we are not.

Caught up in who knows how many schemes that whirl around in our head, do we give thought to life at all? We live life and accept it as necessary, abstract, but not really like this (magic) force of energy or a separate entity who/that actually has something to say for our benefit?

Are we the hedonistically narcissticating kind, the soul of the middle or grovelling the survival path? Be honest. It doesn’t matter but it makes you think. And while thinking :

When —, really —, do I  e v e r  listen to life?

If  life goes by the name of Google or Wiki,
 then yes, quite often.
...and maybe life is knowledge and data (too)?
...and maybe life is me without the I, but the us?
...but then, along came I... 
...and my confident, convinced action
   drowned any voice of caution or direction.

Life, this weird inexplicable thing that keeps (me) going come what may.

Is life perhaps G_od unvenerated?

We use life like a wheelbarrow.
It’s there; it’s convenient; it makes life easier and you can dump anything into it.
Case of beers, junk and yuck stuff.
Occasionally we clean it up with a hose only to let it rust in a corner and then moan when the wheel squeals after weeks of neglect.

Wtf are we doing with life?
It seems there is life and then there is us.
Split existentiality in a race with split personality.

Initially, we are homogenized, but then, along comes the mind and drives a wedge to create the famous lifelong schizo-split, the beginning of the ‘don’t tell me, I will tell you’ kind of relationship.

“I, the great sage are (because I am many in my head) now in charge.”

Often, even if not verbalised this bluntly means:
“f…off life, there is more important stuff in my life.”

Pressing on.
Another puff, shroom, swig or prick or whatever shit.

Life’s now become like a car.
It’s inconceivable that a wheel might be flat one day and we should become stranded.

Fcku!

“Where is the spare?
Shit.
OmG. Call 911.”

“911, what is your emergency?”

  “My wheel is gone.”

“Your wheel Sir/Ma’am, —?—.”

  “Fkcu yes my wheel, damn!”

“Sir/Ma’am we are not roadside assistance.”

  “The wheel is my life.”

“Oh, uhh, hold on please…”

 

A life later… as soon as that wheel is back, Voilà, ta-da, lots of smoke, full steam and ‘mindfully’ ahead.

 

Now life has become that pickup truck.
Big load bed and serious oomph between the …, oo-err, under the bonnet.
The wheels are now supergrabbers, they’re all on but sometime later you run out of gas.
Found deadish on the road going nowhere, load and all, and no life.
Now what? Stuck again?

I know I owe life an apology, badly, and then, as if scripted, I ask it the question:

"Life, 
  what do you suggest right now?"

If I’d turn down my noise, I might just hear its voice.

 

*It’s been three years since I wrote the book ‘Intercourse with Life’.
– Seriously, I also got distracted in noise.

by

You

beautiful-blur-depth-of-field-573239

You,

beauty of my ecstasy

~~

Your smile,

the alchemy of all right

~

Your eyes,

the light in my night

~

Your depth,

redefining deep

~

Your words,

piercing realities sleep

~

Your unspoken thoughts,

joy freshly caught

~~

You,

the subject of all art

~
You,

poet of my dreaming heart.

~~~

 

Photo by Matheus Bertelli from Pexels

 

by

Winner genes

Most of the time stuff happens if you ask for it.

Perhaps you might not agree?

If we don’t say what we want, then, because we have never voiced a desire or blinked an eyelid and there was no mention of what we wanted, we don’t get what we want, — or didn’t want, if you know what I mean, — with the most assured and reliable guarantee aching towards tortured repetitiveness. We will get nothing we wanted in all its many facets. Getting what we didn’t want, because we never said we wanted it not (what we didn’t want) or having expressed what we wanted.

So we get zilch of what we really want (’cause how can it be known if we don’t vocalise it) and we get everything random else.

 

But, I have wanted badly, and have made it known.

Sometimes I wanted so passionately and intensely that I think I chased what I wanted away in fear, — with my ruthless burning wanting, and I was then left severely wanting and crushed.

 

But, when I did want in a more moderate matter of fact way, that what I wanted also approached me. Often telling me in some way or another that I should want stuff that is a bit closer to home. In a way saying that I can have a Porsche but at least the driveway should be fixed first so I don’t scrape it and parking should be available.

I know because it has happened with stuff. Not that I have a Porsche though, because, well, I wanted a girl and an aeroplane more. There seems to be a system of ranking priorities. Girl, aeroplane, Porsche … Some worldly logic would want to dictate the reverse: Aeroplane, Porsche, then girl, but it ain’t like that.

Never mind.

 

I have wanted to win the Lotto.

Bold and recurring, winning the Lotto has appeared on my ‘want list’ for decades.

Why?

It would make life a lot easier, a breeze in fact, and there are volumes of pleasures to be explored too.

I know this is drenched in hedonism and honesty, but so what, anything wrong with that?

 

Often I have gotten what I wanted, and, mysteriously, this included lots of shite too.

I thought I didn’t want shite, but it came along like the ‘B’ side of a 7″ single vinyl record.

Anyway…

 

I wanted to win the Lotto, ­— and — within a few attempts, I won the Lotto.

This is as true as this writing.

The big money Lotteries like Euromillions, and Ithuba. I won them all.

 

I am a multiple Lotto winner, and it tickles me that I am ‘one of those’.

It’s irrefutable and obvious proof that something I am doing works.

Jeez, what more proof does anyone want but a win in a Lottery?

 

Of course, I plead poverty, haha, with the look of a millionaire, — but I am such a dead giveaway.

I am plainly unsuccessful at looking poor. Yeah.

That is why I win the Lotto. One could say by extra-genetic energy application make-up or some such fantasy.

 

Sometimes-often I’d really rather be invisible though, but not permanently, more like on and off when it suits me. When I don’t win for instance after a loud and wild prediction proclaiming thus.

 

You know when you have won the Lotto, because, when you win, the Lottery makes sure you get to know about it. They’ll find you.

Big hoo-hah.

Are you so and so? Yes? Well, guess what?

Hahaha.

 

I am a multiple winner and I can cross my heart to that.

I got what I wanted many times.

I have undisputable success.

 

I am a recurring winner that could hypothetically have a pattern figured out that works.

If I’d be playing at a casino they would have refused me access by now on the grounds of ‘consistent winning’ that is not in accordance with the charter of said establishment.

 

And because I have been verifiably successful in the past, — the past literally being ‘just now’s now,’ — why should I not be able to do the same again this immediate moment now or now-now?

 

This time I will also be pedantically specific.

Yes, I want to continue to win the Lotto and this time the Jackpot too.

With my own numbers.

Now! But at the latest, as soon as possible.