When It Calls Me Up

Listening to the news makes me want to puke. The predictive part of me, having had the experience of the police busting down my door and taking the people close to me to jail, then to a plane, then to another country, the slope of what stands for civility in American society is very slippery. Basically, it sees being anything but white and rich as a point of departure for the home growns being talked about as next in line for the torture chambers of another country. I dont think anxious really does it in describing how I feel. Things are pretty good right now, I was just saying that the other day, good as having enough money for now, a roof over my head, food in my belly, no guns pointed in my face, less surprises, there is this kind of excitement i never really got a handle of. That feeling that tomorrow, or the next minute , could even make it all different, and the difference is part of that feeling. I dont have a story that i like to tell about the now, psychologically its one of my least favorite. There's this thing that happens in performances that as time is called and the ques start to come in, there is a mark with your name on it. Life as a show and the world as a stage has that Shakespearean whimsy, an excitement that the confusion of language will eventually be betrayed be action or circumstance. If there is rain in the forecast and it doesn't happen, do we still get to go home early. Where will I go when i leave this place? There are so many thoughts about what it is and what I do in all this plan. It's been a few days, and the certainty that I've been doing the right thing has faded into getting back to work. It's exciting, yes, death defying even. The wrong people cheer at times like this, forgetting that sometimes a daredevil dies defying death. Or maybe hoping for it, the ooos give way to a shout in the midst of silence. Wide-eyed madness at the thing happening. You can't believe it, so you do something else, maybe something uncalled for but affirming of the air near your fingers. The proof that peace can be manufactured. More media is exploring the notion that you can make money off anything. We could be living in the most honest time, a crulety driven rage sitting atop balloons, the air all hot with the acts of a truth skinned and worn by the proverbial wolves Something about all those veneers.