One Hour Ago Today

With less commotion than the previous time, the entrance to the birth soil seemed less welcome and more artificial, more expected and less prepare. Bound to maybe never leave again it seemed only natural to say fewer words than spoken to. It felt like all the oceans were being spilled over the land, sometimes easy sometimes harsh but it rain constantly with no mercy breaks. Where would one find inspiration other than in ones own narrated tragedies, I hated it when tragedies were dropped off at my footsteps when I was ready to find my summer box underneath a bookshelf. Walls of humidity on the spine of the ether caging me, fencing, and scolding me.
First Rejection then Pity then Forgiveness then I don't know of any more stages maybe Obsession once more with a kick of experience with all but coincidence on a calculated new Stand.
Furniture of old with a white Buddha entertained the center of a glass table held with wooden miniature pillars, the Buddha was to be found underneath the custom carved glass. Left over balloons of a good hearted man's birthday celebration were left scatter over the room, bragging about their knowledge of the bad Feng shui they brought. Then the white Buddha statue came to life and never losing its sincere smile walked towards me, at first I did not move then I panic but fear conquered my body. As it approached more it climbed the empty plastic chair in front of mine then positioned it self behind my laptop on the table were I wrote down all my thoughts. then it said.
"What can you do about those balloons? For me."
"You're the Buddha in the world of the living" I said nervously.
"That's not an answer for me but rather an observation for yourself, the balloons. I want then out of here" he replied
It was four thirty eight on a Monday, lights were on and the batteries were at 30% left on my computer and this trance is not a trance when I'm sober, this trance is not psychedelic when I'm sober, this nonsense is too honest and delirium does not cripple but infuriates because I'm not the white Buddha's remover of balloons, enlightenment in my insanity, enlightenment in all insanity.
"Enlightenment in all Insanity" I said.
"No, just disobedience in yours"
"my what? insanity?"
"The balloons I want them remove now, no enlightenment no nirvana just do this for me" he said his smile never lost a centimeter.
No poetry no narration just randomness, I am not reason but a motive for inflation, scales, polls, and advertisement. The unattended overgrown grass in the old sterile swamp where i had gone to smoke a few cigarettes had turned to the dead Indians asking them not to stop their rain dancing in the afterlife.
"what do you know about the dead Indians and their rain dancing you demanding Buddha"
"they serve a purpose. Go on and write lines about my one liners, on the meaning of purpose, on brevity or marathons, write on the insignificance of removing balloons from a living room, the accuracy of a over living room but be done with it and remove those balloons, Do think too much of my being here and why I don't take care of those balloons myself, there is always air and explanations but you could always do without one and not the other. There is no threats or more no nos in upcoming lines. Finger tips to the keyboard"
I am randomness and remover of balloons for a white Buddha. I am a good measurement of contradictions and vulnerability still clenching at my childhoods fence. When recycling bursts in, there is little room for standards or criticism, only flow and desperation re-use inspiration.
Those of you who can't overdose in spirituality will call it cult, those of you who can't be serene in equality will need a lord. So I intend to end the perpetual reconstruction of the person who use to be me, for we are only trying to romanticized our peonage existence.