Live the Way I Want
I left Massachusetts due directly to normal average daily winter temperatures, for instance 25 F, though I’m fairly sure even without what one might determine a classical education in the sciences, it’s a tad, wee bit colder on the surface of Jupiter, but right here if you go back to the act of yanking as in yanking off the restrictors of an everyday mind, who’s to say there isn’t a swirling molten core spinning wildly, gleefully, with intent, down there in the guts of the biggest planet of them all, and it’s possible, well, unless we got the rockets, interstellar landers and satellites with thermal thermometers, which could even be like the ones they’re using for personal temps lately re: the virus these days, you could say only goes to serve as an example of the 24-hour shit show on all 58 channels, damn, even when we (the honey and I) were smart and ditched cable ages ago.
And here I remember this particular ode began back (before you joined) with me mentioning there comes a time every once/while when the local eggheads give me a ring and ask is it possible, do you think, just maybe possibly you free up a couple of hours and run on down here – going on forever as to where exactly “here” is – nevertheless, run down and enlighten the masses who have gathered in hopes of acquiring at least a smidge of your wisdom, and I cannot speak for you or anyone else but personally I get not one kick from that invitation, my head don’t swell, I don’t become “all that”, the fact is my preference is to be left alone. As an example, let me tell you about the time I jogged around Walden Pond back in Concord, Massachusetts which was during a decade when I did find my often frostbitten ass back in the, as we know it, Bay State. But of course this particular high-steppin’ run took place in sweet delicious summer, one of those warm New England months, when there’s elevated humidity and I may have been my usual perspiring gusher, this “sweat” physiological and all, but I’m here to tell you those runs are beauteous, they serve to ring you out and cleanse the spirit, the soul, and the after-run walking is one of the finest feelings a boy can have, yes, approaching youthful sexcapades, and I have to confess here that I’ve been warned by the highest authorities to lay off all drug and substance references because ain’t there chronic opioid doom all over and do you want to be a solution or an ongoing problem enhancer and I’d put my hand on the holy book and swear that some of those professionals add points to those I’ve accumulated as a poor-ass student of life and award honorary papers just so as to hustle my weary and highlighting ass out their buildings –
And have you noticed eggheads who hang around places long enough tend to think of them as “theirs”, which is a hoopla for them and a yawn for me, and ironically some of these very people are the ones who reach out to yours truly – truly they do – when they’re stuck for a speaker they give me the big invitation, and when I’m on my best behavior I chuckle and whisper, um, eat me, quietly place the phone back in the receiver, change into running gear and head out for the circumference of the closest body of water from where I’m currently addressed (aka couch surfing) and you remember I just noted that remain-in-place long-timers get all pushy and aggressive about it being all about them, whereas I tend to come under the census category of Bedouin, do they still say that?, maybe a better word’s “gypsy” and honestly I’m proud when people say, yo, gypsy, looking at me because there’s a visual, spiritual, mystical, physical, geographical, psychological ambiance which brings pride and joy being called that, opposed, say, to “staying put”,
And that summer day I was running around Walden Pond, yup, running right past Henry David’s cabin and I do swear I saw bluebirds fluttering through the air in celebration, I was younger then and had better wind and I was a high-stepper and I ran the pond one way and then ran it the same way again, having developed not only allegiance but love at that point, and it’s possible while within the ambiance of bluebirds, robins, wrens and hazy summer breezes I was plotting “the next big move” and one time that bigness landed me on the east coast of Florida, in fact, and this is a cool realization for me right now, only a dozen or so miles from what they call “the space coast”, and I did watch a shuttle launch (Jupiter lander?) from a local riverfront once, being a good patriot as opposed to the jackasses in high places on those 24-hour news stations, but, you know, it’s just as likely this particular planning while running Henry D’s Concord wood backyard landed me in Venice Beach, CA, or even San Clemente, and the San Clemente thing, well, don’t go breaking my heart San Clemente, I say that because that town’s the real deal and once I worked the breakfast shift many consecutive days at a Micky D’s on Camino Real just up from the formal Pacific, and you could find me body surfing after every greasy shift and from there I’d take the associated couch-surfed vehicle and punch it up to the High School track and boogie something like 28 times around, and though these repetitive circlings were nowhere near the au natural experiential wonder-ness of running the circumference of Walden, still, you get to that place of semi-exhaustion and something comes over you and it’s all worthwhile, and the “it” being worthwhile is all of it, includes the being asked to share wisdom and the work flipping commercial eggs on a hot griddle and hanging temporarily, at least in spirit, with one hellacious transcendentalist.
Meaning when the eggheads call on me for shared wisdom and pristine prescience, remarkable insights and generally plain old good advice, what I’m going to say is this – Shoop, Baby, shoop.
Get in the car.