{ 21 } .. . mundane

the end of the line

I thought that there would be some magic, an epiphanic seizure to ignite my imagination. After vomiting away in discrete installments, was it too much to ask for a pot of golden wisdom? Instead, I’m hovering precariously over some indifferent porcelain, divining the future staring at a descending whirl.

From the fool to the world is a short gap, a stack of flimsy excuses to fixate on myself. The cards read daft because I cheat. The future remains unknown and unknowable, just like it should be. And the tarot deck hides only the secrets you care to hide.

But in the end, the life you make is equal to the one you forsake. Whatever that means.


spiral scratch
sexy singer girl .. . { the embarrassment, heyday 1979-83 }
come on eileen .. . { dexy’s midnight runners, too-rye-ay }
up above my head there is music in the air .. . { sister rosetta tharpe, up above my head }