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I was having gravy for a change in between my life changes where the gaps were catching up but weren’t quite here yet when an overly sensitive person bumped into me and moved me off balance for a moment so that I had to stop and step backwards to catch my breath and clutching my throat and hoping I could still breath.

What’s your rush I said when I could finally manage to get something out past the ching and the chang and the rusty bottles clinking of my coughing?

Terribly sorry he said; I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m awfully sorry to bump into you like this. Can you forgive me?

Of course I can, I said. Come to the library at half past six and I’ll give you a new book for your troubles, but if you ever bump into me like this ever again I’ll consider you a dork and slap you round the head every time I see you.

As he rushed off to his next class he mumbled: I’ll try not to be late.

So much for gravy I thought, and brushed myself down before setting off along the long hallways of my life where I’m sure all will be revealed one day, but for now it’s but one day at a time where one moment comes after the next.

...

There are some things you can’t skimp on, and gravy is one of them.

Another one is a full moon coming up into the starry sky at night and bursting you full of bloom so that you become the instant poet with nothing left to lose.

And so, seven convincing mind-speaks later into the future I came across a warning: do not go here; a bit like a dream witch lying outside my door near the pavement of doom and bending my will to her wish where the caption in the doom was not so helpful: all the miners are ghosts now, killed to death by the cost cutting apparatus that rules the world and too where goodbye is sometimes forever.

It threw me for a moment; and then offered my some gravy, trademarked and somnolent almost in its death of giving.

What is this, that’s so strange? Can I not just allow me to allow I thought, and carried on banging on doors and asking for the lonely angel’s brothel where I could lose myself or die trying?

I was reading somewhere that life is a big fishbowl where we all swim around half asleep trying to wake up until one becomes enlightened.

But perhaps I was just convincing myself with my own mind-speak and that it is all an illusion, nothing more than some mist that swirls and changes within itself all that it is over and over?

Was I bowling in a different alley and coming out crying beatific, or was I going to taste the gravy over and over where all belief is suspended until tomorrow in the infinitude?

Or was I thinking too much? Was my thinking no more than a jungle of thoughts snaking into the sunlight? Was my self-expression nothing more than spam, some mindless pennies worth of outpouring reaching to be spent?

Where are those dancing girls when you need them most I thought, as I creaked in the vortex where I was being carried away, rousting, and sponge texting all my saviours to come get me soonest.

Don’t expect anyone to come and get you; you’re on your own, they texted me back until I was blown far away to somewhere I couldn’t escape from. And looking up at the full moon where I would be so surrendered, I knew I really didn’t want to go back anyway, I was all out of time and ready to leave my ten wives of botherance for bothering me so much, kind of like a somnambulant in his gravy and twitching on the night stalks.

As suddenly as I found myself blown out of my oars I found myself blown back in again down the alley, over the fence and up the wall, and cursing all the gravy that put me here. Bloody gravy I said, give me salt and peppers every time where I can blow raspberries at the existential, if I so please.

As I was breathing this, a strange dap like thing was thrown at me from out of nowhere and landed at my feet where it radiated holiness and despair at the same time and caused me to look out of one eye while the other one couldn’t do anything but look strange.

It was turning into one of those days again where the short-comings are ten percent in the gap and as third as often and squanderous to boot. I knew I had another class to teach soon but I’d forgotten where it was, so I decided to go get a cup of coffee and leave the gravy alone, and maybe someone would tell me where I was supposed to be, and maybe someone wouldn’t.

Image from Pixabay