Feast of Saint Lazarus, 2024
12/17/2024 30 year Omolu
OMOLU HEADWASH December 17th, 1994 Con/Jur/d, 12/4/2024 We came home, THE HOUSE WAS FILLED WALL OF: *noise *cooking; we went to use the *bath- room *water-closet *toilet, and found the source of a pervasive, *iron *fresh *meat *umami odor, the frozen HEADLESS goat corpse, hanging beneath the hot running shower, let’s back up Although, you were not there, you can imagine, Berkeley in December, the wet that gets, in your bones, IN YOUR BONES You can’t warm up, everyone is sniffling the bookstore is cozy, the way when surrounded by combustibles creates creates a crackling kinetic potential for fire while books, THE BOOKS, with their everpresent threat to burn away the world (after, we will look at the falling ash and see as if, for the first time -- movies, sometimes, too) and we don’t like the line break, so LET’S BACK UP Our brother visiting, the tailend (as opposed to the clawend) of our panic attacks, the preemptive Kundalini Strike, we didn’t see coming, (*obvious *after) and we brought him along to see PARTY FOR THE GODS there was something there, something scary something profound, and the day-to-day fear was alleviating; going whenever we could, and when they would LET US IN we’d never gone under, but had felt the tug, the muscles and nerves not under self-control, the thoughts *nott *knot *not your usual yet, hadn’t, not yet and the drumming, and the singing, the NAUSEATING, depth control of tobacco smoke, and he sees GRANDFATHER, and we SHAKE (palsy) he starts crying WE START CRYING and we FALL, in the distance (*foot *millimeter become continents SPINNING AWAY gravity a fundament, really, just suggestion hardly worth being called a law) someone yells, GET THAT BABA A CHAIR and then the ecstatic dark without dream, without pretension the stuff, beneath everything AND THEN during the *re-formation, of this you know, *THIS *THIS ice water buckets, one after another down our back, in our shoes, white garments soaked through, and they KEEP repeating while we *splutter *moan HOW WAS THAT? and we say HOW THE FUCK WAS WHAT? back forward, we’ve left our job at *SCIENCE FICTION *FANTASY *USED *NEW *BOOKSTORE, whose logo *blackcat *‘50s bubble *space *helmet *distant *star, and we’re on the short bus the one going out to the backend (EAST BUMBLEFUCK)before it dressed fancy, even then, a boutique junk/reclamation yard near the infamous, all ages PUNK CLUB and the burrito shop, by the rail tracks, above which, we lived, between bouts of work and drink and being youngish and the poor bus driver is snuffling and blowing her nose, and we’re thinking, POOR THING, we can fix it and get up to heal it, the bus *sways *rain *Steam *fogged *occluded *windows HALF WAY down the 6-chair deep aisle, to lay on hands, when we rememberour response: WHAT THE FUCK WAS WHAT? and, we get the job (as it were) the point of the exercise, was not to rewrite what is, but to see it in its undefined glory AS IS Now, that doesn’t mean you can’t help “as is” along -- that’s why we have bodies and physics, the goat had arrived unexpectedly frozen, so if Baba was gonna eat anything but meatcicles, beer and smoke, the divine cook, uses the hand that is dealt, plays the ball where it lands, WHERE IT LANDS now you’re caught up don’t want to go all shaggy dog on you (yes, t we had those) THINGS HAPPENED YOU NEEDED TO BE THERE (superstition and presumption free) 30 years later, most of what happened is gone, most of it by December 18th 1994 in the morning, and we woke up our future-wife snoring on the otherside of the vigil bed THE VOTIVES had GONE OUT beer bottles and straw bales ashtrays overflow with cigar stubs/cigarette butts OUTSIDE THE ROOM we close the door quietly so as not to wake her or the cluster of guardian bodies, on the rug before the door gently breathing THE SUN RISES reveals bones in the sink, plates and drums ritual cloths, sacred kit and caboodle rids the flat of its pesky right angles replaced with lumps and fractal geometries -- you can see it *CAN’T YOU?
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 12/17/2024
Put on shuffle — hit play — and look for the feeling induced as an answer
Too much truth...