Double Strength

Thomas Prior

Sometimes one pot, just isn’t quite enough. Put another on the brew stove and call up DJ Raincicle to deliver me an eighth. Because that’s how you get ready for a moment of brilliance. You get your effects, your props, the rituals for your hecatomb, make sure all of your tabs are well enough watered, because one thing you do not want is distraction, and the only way to rid yourself of distraction is to satisfy it. That’s why it takes so much time to be an artist. Because our brains never stop crying out for the never ending stream. And the only way forward is to bash our brains against it, even though it is stronger than anything in the world. It has to devour you while you devour it. You must digest it, until you have no choice but to start spewing, and flying with the sharpness of purpose, which means of course that you may never doubt yourself again. Even while trudging on plateaus, you cannot stop. Till death shall we remain linked by the true marriage, always fixed by the wayward eye which is the soul. The guiding eye which is the holy ghost. The brilliant introspector which is the examined life. Making out with lived through revelations. Setting record to the files of our time by burning matches in a dark yet lively room. A few drops on the  sober mans’ tongue and he is sunk into the divers’ depths of life. An inhale’s squeeze from the radio’s transmission and a heart monitor’s bucking like ‘Lightning, the craziest bull in Kansas.’ Put a quarter in the machine, and listen as the robotic arms inside glide to retrieve your little treat. Take a look in the mirror, at that pampered piece of flesh, and think, “My god what I could do with a pair of scissors.” Glaze over the shades waxing through your constant daydreams. Pick a raft out among the river of souls and sail that barge into another depression slump. Because there is a pearl in that gut gulch. Dropped to bend space time. Revealing a shimmer between plateaus. In a live breath, recorded through observation, untouchable, like the flotation of my stomach suspended in a tailspin. When all of your atoms pull apart enough to poke a finger through, that’s when you will witness your true reflection, and within that comprehension may you prick a morsel of peace from the face of God.

But while floating in that head zone one must remember that balance is a critical component to career success. The base chakras must firmly link to Earth and the cranial chakras must firmly link to the heavens. Both of these groups must firmly link with each other. It is like a rail line of energy. One weak link and the whole train wrecks. It is critical to constantly have brakemen on duty as erosion is a fact of life and delicate things need even that much more love.

I want to be the one who writes sentences for you. Because there is so much depth beyond your skin, the wet blossom to my quivering key. Your emotions, the puddles my bare feet like splashing through in the heat. Ignored in a storage dump archive of here was something put up to be discovered when the feeling I’ve been feeling calls out for connection. In this time alone, preparing myself for heroism through the doing of heroic deeds. A knowledge of King James tailors spurring me through crushing tombstone times. A light of life within my spiral. And me being a skilled enough mariner to recognize a lighthouse when I see one. Telling the boy to come take a look:

“Do you know the river song of phoenix sung?”

“Sir, somewhere it exists around here…”

“Look, it is there.”

And the boy realizes that there is something on this ship which has been hiding from us this whole time.