The Art of Becoming a Human Being, Listening while Performing

five decades of tuned memories and slackened heartstrings.  

 I was contemplating an arrival as a departure, an eternal infant of divine conception, receptive to fabrication and channeled streams of conscious turbulence in a river’s torrent washing the ways of my flesh .  

These inquiries are my natural irreverent to reverential curiosities and drives stimulating the continuous  monologue to dialogue with a self as a soul , a  conversation that has torn  me from the throne again . Still the rebel of unnamed causes and artsy intellects stretched to dress for success. For a moment , I thought and wanted something of imagined values and holy circumstance. The watchman on a wall was the observer of others with  wondered systematic beliefs, doubts, lies, faiths and One Truth . It feels as being of that other time and place in an uncrowded space .

 a young cynic, too bitter to clearly enunciate rage against those systems impressed me into the class of juvenile delinquents.  Anger grew in me , life was unfolding , I’d been told of life on television , it was curious progressive and troubling as I trekked toward rising social waters to swim the swirling currents of events.   cascades and fountains from above and beyond that drew me toward profound discoveries .  

The years of war , addiction and lust grew me up , I lost vain cuteness, likability and personality . I became a neurotic, depressed youth in a philosophically convoluted existentialism, a creator of images , idols , and imaginings within my environs.  I learned to run, dance, equivocate and sing songs to myself,  read between the lines and interpret nature as orderly and sequential from the macro to micro occurrences, it  was way over my head and I knew it .      

Becoming an entertainer was easy for me , I dug being liked for what I did, it was always intoxicating , so,  I became drunk on my own high power ego trips.  I was good at what I did, I could make them laugh, cry, sing, dance and even pray .   always knowing the scene and acting accordingly,  there was a method to my madness and I could act with the best of them ,  as an inventor I could make stuff up,  invent situations and outcomes , embellish my exaggerated details through  formative years . My life was my staging area cast with friends, relatives and eventually  brutal adversaries , on the one  another proscenium  of mind over matter, in  mirrors  and waving appendages , I was laughing at jokes and dodging heaved tomatoes while climbing up the downstairs .

By 1964  I had grown into my streetwise companions and paramours,  she was  undulation to gyration toward some rock star nation cast in political agitation in a seismic conflagration of sex drugs and her rockin’ roll .  It’s a raucous declaration of drug dependence with pumping bumping and grinding from an ancient harmonious hole in my wandered gypsy soul.  I brandish a weapon of mass influence with electricity, and writhing rhythmic vibrators ascendant to genital frequencies in a tribal confluence.  The music augmented, then replaced my religious faith for some primitive, substantial,  mesmerizing inebriation with sound,  transcendent spirituality in tribal cadence, revealed a deeper path to an intuitive understanding of myself , my soul, my ego and my subconscious to conscience motivations.  I was in the loop of perception and reception that lead to the performance of giving and receiving in the perpetual omnipresence of the glorious mystery of creativity .  I was getting somewhere somehow and still didn’t know how any of it was happening . 

Schools taught of freedom, free will, choices, decisions,  success,  money and all their attendant evils. I was a new born sponge sopping the salty gravy of 60s cultural fluctuations and opportunities .  As a nice Catholic kid , I made my First Communion in 1955 and my Confirmation 1960, I took my father’s name ‘Francis’ and got his whole and formal designation , ‘Peter James Francis Waters , Jr.

I couldn’t understand what in the world I was doing in the places I found myself. Becoming a dreamer with big ideas distracted my own thoughts about the way things are or were.  As a confectionery hybrid I was  growing out of Roman Religious Metaphysics and Polytheistic Revelations. I saw myself in colored relief mosaic cast against Soul, Spirit, Truth and Philosophical Reasoning , and, shit,  I was just a kid .  Mental illness was never a consideration or concern back in those days .  So , I ate , drank and made a lot of merry along the side roads of the mind .

Love has lifted me and dropped me a few times. I still have the scars that the Son didn’t heal , healed and now,  I itch like a bitch . I got married the first time when I was 23 and as green as Sherwood Forest, thick as a brick and as dumb as a box of rocks .  I loved women and they loved me as long as it was convenient. If I had the wherewithal to pay for what we were doing, all was well for a time.  I was fine as long as I didn’t succumb to my feelings about everything .  So I denied myself a real talking to about Life and the means to an End .  I entered the Valley of Denial and caught a boat to the Mainland . The Horizon appeared strangely familiar to this legal alien in a culture of deceit .

Someone yelled , “To thine own self be true .”  so I yelled back about the bird shit on the confederate statue , they thought I was making fun of confederate statues with bird shit smeared over it ,  it wasn’t General Lee , so I thought it just had to be about the others like us but not you or me or me too , So, though I thought it seems like a lot of fun and  revealing too, I just admit it to myself at a time like this.

How can I apply myself to such wisdom and be true ? I am truly sick of the way of the world in the war of my ways , But , ”cept for the skies there are no fences facing …” so I climb and scramble for scratch with the wings and prayers of strangers than strange bedfellers , some of these cats are dead on arrival, the victims of their insatiable curiosity for lusty desires for more of the more whores .  It’s true , my self told me to sow and sew and so on, it’s like that all the time .

So now , I’ll go back to her , I got to get to her somehow , all the people we used to are illusory to me now , mathematicians and truckdrivers , fat sweaty odiforous women with as much as can be legally exposed in their pubic beards , ever just talk to a street whore ?  yeah just chat and find how she came to be so pretty and abused and strung out and beat up , I did .  I paid for her undressed and talked for a naked half hour , she was beautiful and business woman , a single mother , gorgeous Colombian lady of the street called La Vagina , she was in her late twenties , she cost 30,000 pesos and I never touched her , I watched her and listened to her talk and smile and be coy and embarrassed , I asked her for a date for dinner , but that never happened .  I remember her name . 30 minutes of bliss consciousness for 30,000 pesos , 15 bucks US .

I hope we get together soon , it’s time to go out and celebrate our ragged lives to the end of time and be in love and have sex with friends and cast our fate at the wind and let it blow the blues away .

Hear’s rockin’ with you, Babe !

Backin’ in with a hell breakin’ loose around my ears , like a noose about the neck of my old ugly self , crowds are surging , the waves are getting higher , Babylon is burning as they continue to blow the predator in chief for breakfast in his flowered bed for the dead  , see how they dread what it was that was meant when said .. uh ya know , …they’ll be OK …sells American souls to an Adversary to save his lying cheating  mouth , the mouth that roared will cry in pain , the pain he and his gestapo inflicted on all the peoples of the world …you are problem , you and your secrets police

Psalm 139


2 thoughts on “The Art of Becoming a Human Being, Listening while Performing

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s