This pretty woman is one of the mothers of some of my children.
Just beneath the bravado I place before the world is a little boy I've never abandoned. It hardly seems worth it. Just about every other symbol or sign that there is more to me than you can see has been removed or camouflaged so cleverly I don't even know it's there myself most of the time. In other words, nobody knows.
They couldn't know anyway. The other, all others, can only perceive what they've been taught is there, otherwise, not. Each of us only see the idea of the something we deign is this or that. The idea of some "thing" that's not-me. That's the bravado part. It's louder in some people than others. To use a current political term, it's like "putting lipstick on a pig". It's how we ideate the various objects in the world we find ourselves. To re-cog-nize them, we give them names. Not-me-s. Nay-me-s.
"It's something alright, but it's not me. I am is not like that." or "That's me alright. I am is the same way. I am is just like that."
Both statements are about me. How many do you know/no? Denial. Negation. Some people "think" we created the abstract world of not-me--s in the very moment we accuse the other of not being me. "You're not me! I don't rightly know what you are, but you're certainly not me. I am is the only me there is."
"I am is me. Not you."
"Wanna bet?"
I don't like trying to write dialogue. My effort betrays the fact that I probably don't really listen to what other people say. I store information for the purpose of mimicking what i find useful about what I'd be if I were you, but I try not to fool myself into thinking I am is you or that it's ultimately "you" I am is imitating. After all, what it is about you that impresses me is something or somebody you imitated yo'self, and is not your property. Not even you are you. I'll take what you think you own if I damned well please. Oddly enow, you won't know it if I do.
If I imitate you and portray what I caught drifting by me as your best hope of convincing the world you're actually an individual something, or the other, you won't recognize my portrayal of you as who-you-think-you-are, much less remind you of who you got the idea from originally.
My part of this deal is that of a rule-maker. That's what I am does for a living. It researches the Akashic Records for ready-made rules of conscience designed to make something out of nothing to support my imitation of you, and if it doesn't find a ready-made set of them that seems close enough, then it creates new rules it thinks will do the trick. I am is very, very clever his own field of play. The very persona you don't wanna try to beat at his own ga-me.
That's why I've started inserting the phrase "Nobody knows." more often than I oughta. I use it as a reminder to remember what's what. Sorta in the sa-me way I use the expressions "Shit happens." coupled with "Thangs change." The specious present waits for no mode of curiosity. I am is constantly must remember to perceive the incoming as plausible, but not convincing, or I find myself dealing with what things were or coulda been rather than what's what.
What could be is just as enticing. Creating a future you can recognize when it gets here to feign prophecy is just as delusional as reframing the past to support the present as the cat's meow.
Nobody knows me well enough to make judgement, but I wonder if today as the future of thirty-seven years ago indicates change. Not much I'd bargain:
THE STREETS OF GLORY
My friends ask me questions
and they give me this advice,
"Won't you ever stop drifting around?
You'll never find peace with all of this traveling,
won't you ever put yo' feet on the ground?"
the answer is "No.", but won't you listen?
There ain't one thing in this big ol' world
that stays like the way it's been,
so, I keep on truckin'.
Now folks I've heard of riches untold,
by people with lots of gold,
that gives a man peace that is never unending,
with a love that never grows cold,
and it ain't only Jesus
or the big Buddha man,
and the answer ain't found
unless you look around,
and ask yo'self questions.
I'm traveling my way
on the streets of glory,
and I've found the path again,
so, I keep on 'moving
while the lights are passing,
and I'm never gonna stop
and say "When...!"
Hallelujah, I'm rolling.
Down the road I go.
Where the things I see
are just a mirror of me...,
so I keep on trucking.
When the wind quits blowin'
does it stop forever,
never to blow again?
Does the Sun when it's down
stay gone forever
or come up in the morning friend?
I love the sunshine
and the morning wind,
and I wanna be free
just to look out for me,
so I keep on trucking.
felix manos peregrino
September, 1971
Edited: Today
