Sunday, February 21, 2010

Olympic Soft Stool in a Cone with Sprinkles

Dog Poet Transmitting.......

Sometimes I think I might be going crazy and then I realize I am already certifiably bat-shit insane. I’ve even got the papers to prove it; just like doctors have degrees and dogs have fleas and something... something... Dylan said, “Geez, I can’t find my knees” or something to that effect. I don’t mean to wind you up; I’m just working my way into this from a different angle.

I’m staying in the home of an elderly woman who tends to watch a lot of TV. I meet and greet with her on occasions and so I catch a bit of cooking shows, German soap operas and The Olympics. I haven’t been around at the news hour so that must conflict with some routine of mine. I don’t know which routine because, not having seen it, I don’t know what it conflicts with; not important. It’s about The Olympics after all.

The time I spend in socializing is not extended and I’m only catching it out of the corner of my eye most of the time but it’s enough; more than enough actually. What I’ve encountered so far are people going real fast downhill on skis while weaving around slender flag poles or else, going cross country with a gun that they fire at circles of one color and if they hit it, it turns into another color and off they go again and again and again. There’s something meaningful here. There’s something epic. That’s what they’re saying anyway. Other times you get people in ski suits being given stuffed bears and chatting away with a Twinkie Hostess. The lights flash off the face jewelry; lips rings, nose studs, whatever.

They’re talking in German and sometimes I get it and sometimes I don’t but to be truthful, I don’t get it at all. I know it’s something important but I can’t figure out why. There’s an endless line of one person after another waiting for medals in three different hues and a much larger group that are just waiting and I hear they do this kind of thing on a regular basis; every four years they do it. Some very few of them are going to be famous for awhile and a great many of them are going to be famous for a short period of time and it’s all brought to you by the people who make guns and Coca Cola or whatever makes enough money from selling it that they can pay for the time to tell you about it.

I saw a documentary recently about gamers and the pro circuit that they have and the narrator kept using the word, “athletes’. We were being led to believe that gamers are athletes. I thought it was pretty funny when they tried that with golfers but gamers? Anyway... the people at The Olympics are certainly athletes according to the way I understand it; most of them anyway. I’m not sure about bobsledding. I’m not sure about anything. Are race car drivers athletes? Do they have to run laps as well? Do they go into training like a boxer?

I might be wandering away from the point I had in mind but that’s okay, it’s my space. I can skateboard across my keyboard in a pink tutu if I want to. Anyway, I’m going to go back to my point. I’ve been getting a peripheral Olympics and thinking; what’s the point? That’s why I think I might be going crazy because I find myself asking that about almost everything almost all of the time. There doesn’t seem to be a point really.

I’m listening to “Silent Running” by Mike and the Mechanics. It’s an eerie thing; interwoven through the British experience, run many slender threads of silver and gold and there are precious gems indeed. The spirit is crying. You hear the spirit crying here and there... reaching because...

It believes... it believes it can reach it ...and prays that it will keep the family safe on the way. “Can you hear me running?”

You know something that constantly amazes me? I see people doing all kinds of seemingly spectacular things in all kinds of venues and reaping the fruit thereof. I see titans of industry and heads of state, brimming with force and fingersnapping lives away and fuggeddaboutit! I see billboards of whatever is beautiful on today’s menu, writhing like sixteen million different kinds of exotica and it’s got smooth surfaces and moist jungle regions and hot panting effervescent promises that go on forever and... oh and a whole lot more but I don’t feel like doing a Michael Jackson all up and down the keyboard to make my point. I’m not at the Olympics so it’s not necessary. Thing is....

I see all of this stuff going on and it’s been going on over and over for thousands and millions of years like something for the benefit of Mr. Kite and all this preening and posing and accepting awards and I look up at the sky and I see a million suns blazing in a space way too big to comprehend and I think... hmmmm... “is (that real) compared to what?”

I’m on a tiny planet and I am surrounded by countless larger celestial bodies AND on this tiny planet I am way, way tinnier yet. On this planet there are tremendous oceans and enormous mountain ranges. I don’t think I have to list the features. Someone did this. Someone did all of this. Now, how does anything that happens on this tiny planet in relation to all of these celestial bodies, compare to whoever did this? The kicker is that the entire universe fits inside my head. It lives there. It lives in your head too. You may only be paying attention to a particular part of it but it’s all there.

Sometimes you hear someone say, “You’re not going to believe this.” I have personally seen various things many, many times that most people would not believe; do not want to believe and would run screaming from and have to be locked up for the rest of their life if they did see it ...and some of them are. I’ve seen these things and I suspect a lot more than what I’ve seen and I am not alone. There are a lot of people like me. We aren’t very many compared to the rest but relatively speaking we’re more than a few and then, there are the Olympics and the awards ceremonies around the globe for all sorts of exceptional acts of mutual frottage and collective deception; I shall ring Nobel before its time (grin).

That guy who flew that plane into the IRS Office? They ought to have that in the Olympics. Maybe that’s the real life Olympics. That was a very Dog Poet event. It’s unfortunate that people died, maybe... I haven’t seen the karmic scoreboard yet. Might be they got bonus points and extra miles even though they weren’t flying at the time. Moving right along.... That kind of thing happens to people every day and they call it business and package it. Pick some up on your way home. See what I mean? It’s okay when they do it according to their protocols but it’s not okay to freelance.

Authenticity and the genuine article are not easy to find but they are around and they will be heard. I’m on the other wireless at the moment,. the internal internet and I can hear a whole lot of Ahrooooooooo!!!!!!! for that poor fellow. I can hear it howling out of the Dog Star and radiating through the galaxy. We heard you. It must have taken a lot to get to the point where that’s all you’ve got left to do. I don’t know his name because I only heard about it and briefly saw a headline in the process of posting an article; some technician...airplane....not so silent running. I don’t know what to say. I know how he feels. A lot of people know how he feels and then come all the lies. It reminds me of that incident between Jesus Christ and Pontius Pilate... “What is truth?”

I think a guy called Bobby Rydel did a song called “Breaking up is Hard to Do” Somebody needs to rework that song and make it, “Waking up is Hard to Do.” At the moment you are seeing the early tracers of events launching themselves into the blue aether of our future which is always arriving like those horses in the waves in the Origami posting. There are little clues popping up all over the place concerning our pending event horizon.

Just riffing a bit; the sun broke out this morning and it’s getting up into the fifties already. Spring is definitely on the way. I figured since I have to drive off and post the comments that I might as well put something up and well... there it is.

End Transmission......

Radio show tonight.