An open letter to: The Wiz. (3)

It’s pure chaos here – a man was accosted today for resting his bicycle on the white line of a designated parking spot in town. The security guard was rabid madman apezoid and pointing one finger, that curled as his tongue wagged manically, he made the poor man flee with bike on back. Naturally, I laughed so hard I was arrested. It’s a terrible thing when your life plays out like a sitcom and you are the lonely laugh track, hollering constantly into the abyss, echos count for a few but then it’s up to you again, you know? I was released on bail and forced to wear a muzzle, which is good news as I was working up some wicked vitriol and would have been promptly executed had I been able to speak.
I’m having that dream again where I’m seated on a large rotating plate, surrounded by a gaggle of enormous microwaves, opening and closing their doors in time to take five by Brubeck – I’m not all too concerned about this, although the song now carries some tedium outside of that radioactive burlesque dreamdrilling.

This afternoon, I stopped by what I imagined to be a rather picturesque view.
While observing it, I was struck with an overwhelming sense of melancholy. I thought, a better man could perhaps truly appreciate this, whereas, I felt only to be appreciating his capacity for appreciation, you know?
A conduit, middleman, camera, snapping the shot and sending it off – messenger – waiting for reply, a review, or explanation, as to whether it was indeed anything special. It took the remainder of the walk home for my head to stop spinning but it still irks me.

In the wake of heavy steps
Dust settles on the mind of man
Tongues throw words to death
Whose ears are victim and suffers too.

– Rick.

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