"Dislocation and Butter Cream" by Richard F. Yates

"Dislocation and Butter Cream" by Richard F. Yates


well of souls by rfy

["Well of Souls" by me. Digital drawing made with my phone. 2020.]

Premise: Succulent meanings are dredged from haunted cartons... Discuss. Discus. Throw the concept as far as you can.

Today happened virtually against my will. To protest, I avoided consciousness and accomplished next to nothing. (But I ate cake.)

And the beat goes on...

Tomorrow I will do what I can...perhaps a bit more. More than I can. Do I need a plan?

I have a MOTIVATION! A formulation of motivation based on cogitation and exploration---though the jungles that I'm attempting to map are mostly internal.

I know my time is limited---the alarm clock can buzz at any moment---and my GOALS are not DESTINATIONS, but just to travel and sing and leave a good looking simulacrum. (Mine will be multiform, fragmented, colorful, confusing, and silly! Just like the OLD me.)

This... This exact moment is a piece of the sculpture---the multi-dimensional fiction---the blood sweat and laughter---the residue and ash.

Each creature, each pixel, each sentence, is a breath of my futurevoice. Like ridiculous static cling hitchhikers, my pieces will blow and adhere and swirl and scatter---paratrooper spiders (Some Pig!) launched passively by random winds far beyond the barn.

Does it matter if the bits are scattered? Perhaps the way this puzzle works best is if the pieces are as far from each other as possible---just data in the datastream of society. Hidden noises camouflaged as nonsense, but secretly housing a devious consciousness in a million fragments. (Just like now...though less concentrated.)

The wings that fly too high will melt... (Except they DON'T! The story is a metaphor from BEFORE science could help us understand the universe. Icarus had to have flown out of the atmosphere and millions of miles in the cold vacuum of space before getting close enough to the sun for his wings to burn...and he would have suffocated long before he fell.)

Let THAT be a lesson to you!

It's too hot to sleep tonight. Maybe I should up my meds...

Later!

---Richard F. Yates (Holy Fool)

[P.S. - This piece was originally posted on 23 June 2020 on my HIVE blog. I have given myself permission to republish it here so that other folks can also be confused! Ha! ---RFY]


Richard F. Yates
Richard F. Yates

I'm an artist, author, poet, editor, and critic living in the Pacific Northwest. (Bigfoot Country!) I like weird stuff.


Art for Weirdos and Fiends
Art for Weirdos and Fiends

Art, writing, poetry, photography, collage, shamanism, magick, and other essential nonsense!

Send a $0.01 microtip in crypto to the author, and earn yourself as you read!

20% to author / 80% to me.
We pay the tips from our rewards pool.