The Aftermath

(Joe, 2010)

For years I used to say friends taste was something I could lose if I had to lose a sense. I didn't care for fine tasting food, gimmicks worked just as well, some $50 steak in comparison to a good $5 burger were the same, they satisfied, but one didn't leave me broke, one had cheapness added to the flavor. I could live my life without taste when it came down to it, up until a point. The taste of another human being, no I wasn't eating them, the taste of their alive flesh, their spit, in combination with all the other senses created a memory of someone, and since you had your hands on their breasts they were close to you, that secrets naturally unfolded, and memories deep down inside from a small portion of the deepest recesses of your mind were recovered and explored. You could be you with those types, that you no longer had to put on a mask, or dance a certain way, you could go wild, real wild, the wildness, with that particular human being. I was calling about the wildness, I was doing all the ripping and tearing, I was hungry for more. My patience was being tested, and I grew to know my limits as a man, as a human being. I got into new age methods from my mother, I'd close my eyes with my legs crossed like a yogi, hands resting with pinches at the end of my fingertips, the soft sound of a native american singing something ancient and timeless was playing in the background with the occasional sound of a synthetic meteor shower. I was transported somewhere far, far away, in a time of old, where all the most beautiful landscapes of my life are forged together making the ultimate terranova for my spiritual feet to explore. I would spend days here, in silence, playing in the garden with kids that sported tibet-monk gowns. My father started growing worried of my behaviors, wanting to take me fishing, I said, when I did speak, that I no longer eat fishhhhh as my words trailed off in something profound. I felt like I gained the ability to float, my feet just seemed to glide from one end of the house to the next, I didn't even open my eyes, I knew exactly what was coming my way, where I was going, not a thought in my conscious mind. I made it to the kitchen, cut myself an organic apple, and then thanked the apple for giving itself to me. I roamed the garden to feed the fishes, I whispered to them how much we loved them, the "we" was suggestive, and meant, the universe, which had found itself within me over the week. I drew cosmetic scenes, sang Andrea Bocelli on the roof with the morning doves. I swore I was the happiest I had ever been in my life. I was bald, I wore sandals everywhere, my pants were all hemp, I even met the farmer who harvested the hemp, and his son who made a business of making itchy clothing, they were both sweet humans, I wished to spend a night on their farm, camping, and helping them with their labor but they said they had all they needed there. I bid them farewell, and that was the last I saw of them. My mind echoed a certain rhythm that dictated my day, and before I realized it, I had forgotten what all this way for, all of my ways, my new vision, what it all meant. After two weeks of living like a new ager, I realize it was only because I needed to distract myself. I looked down to my hands, they were dirty, I had spent the entire night in the garden planting an herb garden that would last all year long. I wondered what I was doing, I told myself, Jesus I had lost it. I longed, yes, I was lost, I was independent, but felt empty. Alone on an island, people come and they very much go, those who remain are either unwelcomed guess or here to roam the desert and hills, with a red powdery sand beneath their eyes. They call them the zombies, I call them the locals. I bore a tan and a beard, I tried to talk like them, breaking up my words and using slang, I felt like a white person from the burbs trying to rap. Here is where I did not belong. I tried to remember my life before this one, and it didn't really call up any sort of cohesive reality to judge one life from another. I was lost, as I said. The jungle heat, the desert heat, the sun's heat, all had melted my mind, I didn't know what was before or after. I danced in a voodoo trance, I saw the devil and spoke only to be spoken to, I dared not to look into his eyes, and when he said something in satanic verses I understood he had no interest in me and that I was free to go. I hopped on to the airplane, told my folks I loved them, and vanished into the thin air, literally. In the sky I thought of a week of wildness, how it transformed me from beneath my radar, that I was charmed, and somehow managed to keep my cool, I was a boat rocking over the ocean, pure coolness. The rest of my time I spent doing something I'd rather not mention to my friends back home.