where the dream fish leap
A traveler seeking enlightenment has finally reached his destination: Port Botany. Part one is here.
Port Botany was a failure:
answers, answers, everywhere,
to questions no-one asked
and not a drop of coffee.
The voice inside my head was silent now,
my ambition was ambitionless,
and my quest would lie forgotten
in my diary if I had one.
The only way was backwards
to the factory life I knew before,
where conveyor belts were running still,
transporting woven sunlight into night.
Where once again, I’d sweep the floors
and gather up the broken threads,
wind those threads on spools,
and pack the spools in boxes,
to be recycled into shadows.
And if I met my double asleep, inside a rubbish skip
(the other me of this alternate earth),
surely he would greet me warmly,
and willingly share his life.
But firstly, I would bathe,
test the bubbling waters of the bay,
float with household cleansers
and unexpected chemicals.
When I emerged, refreshingly pine-scented,
I discovered I was not alone—
an unearthly being was sunning on the shore.
Her halcyon wings were shaded
with the evening and the dawn,
and entwined electric eels
were flashing in her hair.
She seemed familiar, a medley
of my earlier encounters,
and I ventured a casual hello.
She replied with eyes averted.
We might converse, I might confide
a secret of the universe or two,
but for the love of Zeus and Hera,
please put on your clothes.
My chance at last, I thought, as I dressed myself
in swathes of bubble wrap,
I will choose my questions wisely.
On windy days, my less important parts
are blown away. I’ve wondered
what is holding me together.
Am I knitted? Am I glued?
Or like water, hydrogen bonded?
Also, fish, my quest, and infinity.
You’re made of words inside your mind,
bound together by conjunctions.
Nearby, the dream fish leap,
your bleeding anodyne.
The absolute may not be reached by mortals.
To understand the end of living as you know it,
you must grasp your own beginning.
Her attendant eels shaped flashing
constellations in her hair,
the ever-changing symbols from my visions,
now become a mystery.
I’ll tell you more, the long dream
will be yours, but just before forever,
we’ll dance upon the shore of meaningless reality.
Her record player was powered by the eels.
… really … a coffee shop … no idea … the Ramones … what …
- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1798.
- Alcyone in Greek mythology
- hydrogen bonding
- bubble wrap and three visions from part 6
riders in pale cars (part above). The illustrated mind: this image is a mathematical visualization of EEG data.