Corean Injections and Pushing the Word


Cover me, when I sleep
Cover me, when I breathe
You throw your pearls before the swine
Make the monkey blind
Cover me, darling please
 

Shock the Monkey – Peter Gabriel 

 

Like a good song, the word will always start having you think you know where you are — where you think you’re comfortable. Even the experienced and jaded would admit that, but, like a junkie wanting to shock the monkey, you want that jolt of adrenaline, that push (or pull) that takes you over the edge. You want to be challenged, but you keep this dirty little secret buried in the depths of that sponge-like matter called your brain. 

All your most bland desires would have you believe this little lie of comfort and calm, and so you would visit grassy, tree-lined fields where birds are singing. A lazy brook bubbles in the near distance accompanied by a sleeping frog’s croak and the drone of a non-existent chicada. Mushrooms open their caps in the glory of the morning gaining sustenance from essential alchemical elements — the clarified dews, dappled sunlight and cozy cowpies that have brought them here only as potential. They blacken before your eyes in response to your presence, while not so far away, but across the great water, lies a city of roses where color abounds by the dictates of man who attempts rather successfully the governing of nature. 

What is this that man does? 

You are tossed far to the south, quickly and not so gently, into a world bursting with chaos, motion and noise. Freeways, traffic and the stench of fumes spewed from tailpipes — everything here is attached to wheels and geared for activity, for the wicked cannot be allowed to rest. Panic, fear and aggression unheard of goes unnoticed by those who live in this arena, their senses dulled into a sleepy apathy when a gunshot sounds, and now, 

You are in the stars, behind and beyond the glittering sparks that you have dreamt of in your reverie for better things. This is the deepest, darkest and coldest reaches of space, and yet you feel no cold, and the light shines beyond all things. What is this, but vaguely familiar? All is indistinguishable here — unnamable, ineffable. Suddenly there is a form — a middle-aged troubadour skips by you singing a song of times coming by. He skips onward towards his inevitable demise while a small dog nips at his heels, warning him of his doom, but this is a jump, a jump into an abyss that does not kill — it is a jump that can only liberate. Fear is no more, and the wheel of fortune spins on….

The fear is pervasive in this place. It is persuasive in this place of final release. You have suffered here too long — for ages and eons of time. You have suffered with those of your tribe, with those you never knew until the suffering began. Uniforms have pushed you beyond abuse, starving and torture until they pushed you into this heartless and demeaning process of death. There is only pain and the taste of choking, putrid gas and vomit coming up your throat from the depths of hell and you explode into countless sparks of the brightest light you have ever known, and it has begun. 

You’re standing in that grassy field once again, but time has passed. The sun has gone low into the evening haze of the diminishing day. It is the crack between the worlds — and you know you have lived many lives. You have experienced all things and you are expelled again, 

Expelled into a world where image exists as song, a song which is built upon word. You have been taken away to places where only life, dream and mind can take you. You have been safely delivered back into what is your place. This is your good place — your safe place. This is the place where you think you know what is going on, and while worlds and realities continue to spin around you in eternal existence, you have important things to do, and your diversions fade away into the reality of  work, chore and responsibilities. We must be realistic…. 

Time and time again you have been given a gift. Time and time again you have taken these journeys and become one with all that is, one with the jazz of words and the jazz of life itself. 

The jazz of your mind…. 

And while Chick plays on, you obsessively shock the monkey back into its sleep once again. 

Sleep, little darling. Sleep.

 

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2 Responses to “Corean Injections and Pushing the Word”

  1. Luis Lopez Says:

    Glad I didn’t read this at night, evocative, introspective and wonderfully creepy. Kudos once again Pete.

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