Towards Guesswork

10/28/2006 6:59 AM – 7:59 AM

And so it turns out that if one is Missy, one does not get paid to sleep but, instead to stay awake. We could all probably learn something from this. But, really, why bother? The sun arises and the sun goes down. No more of that then. The panic attacks must be a reminder that one gets old faster than one thought, but discovering what lies beyond the charnel house can wait.

Up, then, there’s always much to do and it’s a private eye’s morning – wet streets, light fog, yellow streetlights. When at last we have arrived, there will still be work to do. The problem with drinking deep is that you swallow everything. So, up. Up and to work. Delight in labor and you life will be a delight. The need to labor will not slacken. The day grows longer than the light. Go to sleep and get up. You choose your Holy book for its gilt, but the pull does not grow less.

Out with all that, then. The bobbing and weaving, the thought of what one wants and knowing that this this is where you are. Do not let it go, I guess. Tomorrow will come. Today will go on. Sleep and wake up. Do you really have a dream or did you borrow it from someone else? Bah. That’s the stuff of trite. Trite is as it is. Replace it and move on. Forgetting and remembering. Putting down and picking up. If one could only find the quiet. Ah, all the world’s therein. The putting down, the picking up, the lesser children of the greater god. All things flow through and drop behind the bed to gather dust and books. Where are you going then, now that you’ve determined that you’ve nothing to prove? No answers, perhaps that’s what the madness taught. One wishes that one could stop needing the lesson. But up you are. And here the words erupt from fingers. We’re hoping they string together better than the monkey’s, but we can’t ascertain the limit of a thing, so how can we judge its value? Guesswork. That is a fine labor at which to labor in vain. On to it then and God grant us wings.