488. February 8th…de·lu·sion·al, de·lu·sion·ar·y, pre·de·lu·sion,…hey let’s all move to Yap…where the government can’t watch us…ok???

“Refrigerator Art” 2011

“Predilection, n. The preparatory stage of disillusion” – Ambrose Pierce

and Devil’s claws…I laced together….hung on the nail on my light blue wall….they were lucky…not big kind of luck…like a real 4 leaf clover….or a St. Christopher medal…but that kind of state fair sort of luck…the luck that after a few tries….might get you a goldfish in a jar….or one of them fancy looking drinking glasses….with the grapes and vines embossed on the side“….

I once believed I was going to work for National Geographic…originally went to college to be a forest ranger…but neither were the cards dealt….actually many of the cards I thought I wanted were…never dealt…I thought the universe…or fate…maybe god…or I was in the wrong place at the right time…held the responsibility for the small failures…and me…I was just standing there eating chips and salsa…watching the river go by…thinking anything was…better than anything else….

it took me many decades to care that my socks matched…the details matter little…of what lit the fuse for the sock matching explosion…what I know today is…I am here and not there…Yatsutani Roshi wrote…” The fundamental delusion of humanity is to suppose that I am here and you are out there” and I understand his meaning for all of us to realize we are some degree of the same and oneness….yet I think the delusion of self is to live here and be out there…creating something like a puff of breath on a cold day…expecting it to be significant…lasting…I know this well…

there was a time in my life…if you’d had mentioned Ethiopia…and it was coffee picking time…I’d be getting tickets…packing…figuring the lay of the land…or maybe you just wanted to move to Montreal…and needed a ride…”sure…I’ve never been there…let me quit my job first“…

today the weather predicted snow and 9 degrees…I awakened this morning at 5:40…it was dark…and in that darkness I saw snow and something hovering around 9 degrees…I fell back asleep and when I awakened and hour or so later…it was blue skies…no snow…the sun was shining….the temp was cold but nowhere close to 9 degrees…the prediction wrong…and maybe later it will be right…but that didn’t matter…I thought of Henry Darger and his book of “Weather Reports”…

“the Book of Weather Reports is in fact concerned with a kind of endless, self-multiplying error; this error is not Darger’s, however, but the weatherman’s: “He was all wrong again except the temperature

Darger began writing the book in December of 1957 and stopped in December of 1967…now …”Experts”…have tried to read more into it than weather and are touting this manuscript as some social commentary…from Dager…when chances are it’s nothing more than a man who wrote about weather and wanted to see how accurate the local weatherman was…Darger liked to write about accuracy instead of collecting miniature anythings…or cars…he stacked predictions on his shelves…

I always liked those viewing devices…you know the ones you looked into…moved the toggle down to get a different 3D picture…usually of Wyoming…or a forest in the North West….those were the ultimate delusionary catalyst for me…as I could find a place…in any of the photographs…know everything I felt I needed to know about it in a nano second…and start devising a way to get there…and get there soon…I moved to  San Francisco exactly like that in 1997…no real reason…just because…Hawaii  in 1993…Albuquerque…in 1978…Alabama in 1975…in between and to 2006…were a few thousand trips around the planet…and not one bit of it made any sense…(except of course at the time I was doing it…it did…are you kidding?)….and my socks still didn’t match….

like a sharp stick in the eye…along with a well placed nudge….one day I decided to take…god…planetary alignment..fate…karma…every girlfriend I’d had whose name began with “I”…”J” or “R”…”it wasn’t my fault” thinking…timing…blame… whining… abuse…alcohol… recreational drug use…people I wanted to love…those who wanted to love me…(who I didn’t want to love me)…cheap superficial sex…fast food…Bushmills…grandiosity….dancing on a white balcony overlooking the ocean…fantasy…a woman south of the equator…any ideas of fame…and a myriad of other bizarre and delusional thoughts…out of the equation….granted everything tasted like stale Melba Toast for a few years…the solid white puzzle seemed easier to put together….and one day….

my socks matched…and rolled up nicely in my drawer….and I made my bed every day…and didn’t wash the dishes in the backyard with a hose or my clothes while I was taking a shower…and it was better than…..good….it was here….not there…

“Once you are liberated, you are forced to ask who you are.” – Jean Baudrillard

 

 

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