K: p-safe to poindexter one night late in november
when he's running out of fucks to give
as the days ramble on a bit colder and his business grows still
and he wonders what the point of all this schooling is
what—come may—will be the forward-moving choice of his
if he's already got a job that makes him happy and fulfilled
an employment helping other people find their way to happiness/fulfillment's cattycorner
tho his occupation sits outside the world's expected normal jobs
it is what he'd pick to stick with ever forward unto dawn
is that so odd? to choose the winding route, though it even makes him more afraid of cops
[this is a flashback; consider an appropriate transitional animation]
R: compounding all the fears he's accumulated since his mom lost him in that street so long ago though still so crowded it feels in memory
a potpourri of hoi polloi in the big-town farmer's market place
he is holding her hand for the longest moment, then the connection is broken
and he is alone in a sea of other people
too surprised to cry at first; w/fear he is frozen, immobile
one point five hours go by where he walks thru shoe trees of unrecognizable bark
surrounded always only by other people
unseeable; too quiet to merit notice
eventually seen and recognized by a farmer as too young to meander by himself
she (i.e., agricola) tries to coerce words from his mouth to pinpoint parents
in vain: the boy clams up and remains mute
when police arrive he stays silent and unclaimed for another two hours
by chance the young mother wiseman herself wanders past the booth, dazed and confused now
she had traded a tooth for some smack
and forgotten all about her young charge
barely remembers his face as her son jumps up and runs to her
the cops & farmer watch as she avoids his mewling hug
acquiescing eventually when she can't evade the three y/o's arms
one officer asks
C: ma'am, is this your son
R: she nods three times too frenetic for a healthy reflex & herself responds in an opioid rasp
T: did i lose him again?
R: & then she in turn was lost to him, away taken, to orange jumpsuits gone; her custody of him removed by zerothly tolerant laws
[end f.b.; a.t.a. #2]
K: it is this paradox he mulls as he sits in his selected spot:
has he moved to float above control or doubled down on living under it?
the dissonant philosophy of a self-perpetuated happiness that sits outside & is frowned on by civic expectations, yet does no harm to any save his newly wicked self-vicious thoughts
he thinks till his brain gets too hot
perched on his new gyroball hovery in the handicapped slot
he prefers the spot for its shade more than proximity to any relevant space
he can keep his spheroid cool uniformly
all the more comfortable to lean upon it as the classes filter in and out
watching the clock tick the people around
smoking mint & jasmine cigarillos—back-to-back—with a lonely fearsome drag
clearing ash as if the thing were to be taken from him momentarily
so he puffs and sucks to stave off the departure's imminence
between huffs as she approached he'd said hello but remained on the spot
even after she greets him in the negative
E: i'm serious; you need to leave
K: he once chuckles then says
P: it's okay ma'am i've been here for a time
and am now as luck would have it on my way out
but for future reference, ossifer, i've just as much a right to be seated here as you'd award to any body in a wheelchair
it's a mental handicap, though, so there's no physical paper of course
save the cylinder still sitting and reacting in my hand
honestly i've squatted for a while with my trump card in hand waving evidence around like there's a fire sale on contraband
you should've checked it out from miles out and saved yourself the trouble of coming all the way over
though i appreciate the friendly-ass commitment to small talk
this is the kind of conversation that just doesn't need to happen
E: kid you can't sit here
there's all this space over there but this is—
come on kid i shouldn't have to explain this
P: oh you don't i really get it
this spot is meant for those less fortunate
and unfortunately that term applies to me
as i said anyway now i've got to go
but before i do i'll let you know:
i've got a death wish
not that i'd kill myself
but right now ma'am it's a dire bowl of cereal i'm slurping up spoonless
here's my problem: i'm pretty done w/ all this schooling shit
but can't see a life for myself that's w/o this campus yet
i can't leave but i can't stay here;
this place both my life supply
& the vampire too vi(s)c(i)ous sucking it dry
so my self is torn multiplicative by myself into undeserved quarters
(my x my, self x self...etcetera)
yet the amazing grace that saves me is this habit
—pretty terrible—
of leaving my dreams unfulfilled
keeping thoughts still ephemeral
so it's all ethereal, in theory
it's not that real; i'm mostly just crazy
hence the continued sitting in this spot
should be continued proof that i'm no randy hottentot
i'm simply more or less deranged: prone to thinking like a cuckoo clock
so if that's good with you, QED, i'll leave; arrivederci, lady cop
he turns to putt away
E: excuse me?
he swings back
P: ok what i meant by my plea for insanity was not carte blanche per se re: what i've accomplished for humanity
what i meant was,
a state of mind is a relative space
& sometimes the hard rules we adhere to (societally spkng) don't mean nearly as much in some particular cases
ergo maybe my empty mind should be allotted some compendium of empathy by a usually unaffective system (legislational & enforcement senses spkng)
so ms officer of the law i do implore thee in finest old timey speech w/ rhythm dreeping florid thru my cheeks
maxillofacial cavities reverberating in that ceaseless tune-free pitch
rhymes crying out in chorus self-harmonic
please leave me be
all my orifices singing to be free of mortal tyranny
i'm not sure what it means quite precisely but i'm pretty sure it's something smelling faintly of enlightenment
just a hint, tho, & i'd like to pursue the scent
but you stand to my detriment in front & trying hopefully (for you) to hold me for a new detainment
and i ain't having it, ms police person
so w/ur permission i will rest my case, take the crazy card & swipe it thru the keyfobesque and exeunt this space station as if gamely pursued by a space bear
i assume you have ursine suits i can use to complete the amusing departure
should i sign any papers?
oh, sorry, but not as an autograph, only official shit plz
that's the last thing i need right now, people thinking that i bribed u w/my John Hancock
you hear about Jimmy Frisbie?
presumptive heir to the Ham-O disc empire
and a killer southpaw flick as well
near-singlehandedly led his team—
E: excuse me
P: ya what's up pat
don't worry, i'll finish my story in just a sec
by the way, can i call you Pat?
E: um
P: i know it says Patricia on the nameplate but i just feel we're too damn chummy now to not use best epithetical practice
please, call me dex
E: we're not going to do this
P: think about how much time we would save as a species if we could just call each other by their first name
E: you cannot speak to me like that
P: excuse me? why not?
E: i am a warden of the law and i demand your respect
P: well sure you can have it
i don't have much need for it anymore
do you know where the nearest window might be?
actually, never mind; i think i'll just use the door
i can see myself out, don't you worry
[he lights the pack of cigarettes entire in his hand
w/ a match hidden behind his ear
throws it down
and disappears, fleeing backwards,
screened by the smoke of the resultant fire]
[meanwhile p. safe lunges toward the escapee
but is stopped by the cloud
starts hacking up a lung
damned tar particles
and is forced to resign her quest quickly]
K: she can only watch and cough real chagrined from a distance
as lil dex makes his break for the exit too swiftly for her to begin to call in any assistance
he is long gone by the time she stops spitting ash
she begrudges his too fast actions and his darkest of fashions
which together w/his natural blackness make it hard for her to ID him
the mint is acrid in her mouth & his alacrity astounded her
she vows
E: to find out just who that rapscallion were
er
was
K: now the jasmine gives a buzz upon her tongue
and there are bees within her head
and she is wondering if only those two herbs were in that bunch of cigarettes
she ponders, sudden stony woman thinking thoughts that just escape her pebbly neural grasp
E: is that the kid who cuts the grass
outside the hawt police department?
K: she tries to find his face within her brain
but inky tendrils bleed rorschachs into each other
& blurring pictures circle twirl out saliency's drain
she wonders if
E: this is what it feels like to go insane
temporarily, at least
K: for she knows at the very forefront of her cortex
it won't last forever
that she'll survive the bout w/ madness and recover
no KO for her today; she'll be okay
and as relief sets in and she tries to sit down
tries to contemplate it, really
E: what does sitting down, like, really mean?
& in that little instant of über-thick thinks
she realizes
E: i'm forgetting to account for the knockout potential of gravity
in a blink it quick hits me
shit, what is this sudden waving
K: at the same time simultaneous another flash of understanding rolls in
E: i know just where i've heard that kid's name before; it was that frisbee tourney
no; or was it
K: but before the thought resolves she is recumbent on the ground
exploring gravel patterns, crawling hands and feet and knees and 'bows round the very spot she just told dex explicitly no to being in
brief last reaction before she loses track of having limbs and nerves at all
E: why are these macadam pieces so small?
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