see the ball, be the ball...dispatch from the hinterlands...

      

     he played for the grays

     with pandered newspaper class escapism, plagues and bubble markets

the world is covered in tight flaked electromagnetically enhanced wire loosened chime connected scaled skin, with neo-cortex like hyper allocation, there is instantaneous gratification of information, downloading dopamine in clean content applications, online personification is more important than highlighting rapidly diminishing sources of fresh water...we don’t care, we are cold and sycophantic, we are tired, it is late January and we no longer want to watch television, pacing the hallways, we are bugging out, feverous, we are…

Spring Training World Serious

        do we blow the team up or do we surrender draft picks for one last hurrah, the angels, peering down from the heavens could be aliens much to our chagrin they might not care about mortality or sin but rather for the non-genetic propagation of our species-specific properties, the same goes for their hellish brethren, we might never walk on water or spit fire from our eyes, but we may someday know how to unlock hydrogen’s boundless potential energy, there is promise in the tidal harness theories out there exploring gravity and orbital mass confluences, but let’s face it, we are human and we live to burn, fire is our favorite spoken element though if we had secret ballots I am sure some of us might choose water, wind or Earth as an All-Star, providing they bite sound well and can be coiffed for the cameras, not playing a whole lot…

     the jester masks, are all cartoon mascot-action figure archetypal trading cards, they have no influence on my decisions, I just like the sound of them clothes-pinned to my spokes, I still decide not to make any decisions to root against the team I’ve chosen, this way I am an eternal key tumbling in calculated cylindrical algorithmic piracy, waiting for magic windows, and environmental angel-ism, in black clad shadowy populist movements that need be called demons sometimes, to differentiate the elongated time peddlers with white wings, reputations are such that blame is placed at birth within a class based humanity, angels and demons don’t need these devices as much a stewardship of interest of what they do to us, when will the product be suitable for travel between dimensions, our indigenous cellular functions are now becoming cannibal parasites, slowly eating themselves away, distorting waved realities, marauding from the inside as software hijackers,  have long co-opted the community of divinity sensory fortifications along the base stems of our brains, they used to call them dream vacuoles, the points and places, souls hold onto information, when climbing the double helices, weather can cause illness to parse the gene pool, stimulating mutations, they will need to schedule games accordingly, we are so much like the game of baseball here in America, especially in the North-East, Mid-West and Mid-Atlantic regions, rooting for an exorbitantly out of touch publicly funded mass trinket-ed saturated market tribal identity, some of us even call this phenomenon names, like God, Jehovah, Allah and all the other derivatives time can recall, this is not to say that I don’t love baseball, I do very much, as it is my own divination bible, where playing memories of childhood over and over, newspaper crinkle hero-idol worshipping, the good guys are always winning and although I only sometimes grandstand-ed my fanny to sit in the seats, the rest of the time I vicariously and happily peruse box scores hoping in little tiny pieces that particular game was won or at least played to our measurable expectations…

     I suppose it could be the same as fútbol, in Europe, picking a name, a neighborhood and associated colors to root for, just like the angels and demons do with us humans, I know I keep calling them angels and demons, but they could very well be good cop bad cop alien ancestry, someone is always saving us at the end in the American dream culture, here beauty is an out of balance ripe sate, rife with the certainty of transistor radio sensationalized object attainment, on the corner hawking inner molecular motor drives, nano-tubes, the new songbooks, are just tools for mixing viruses and national anthems into the mass congregations, stadiums give us, the same functions a church might have once done, when not so many people pretended they knew how to read, the lies are a bit more see through these days, so most of us can get past the glam and hold morals as part of our mores in the programs we wave, cooling ourselves when it's hot and rain is an inadequate dispersion that has us worried, this fans our fears, it permeates our language and understanding, we are thirsty, equanimity in character is no longer an option to be negotiated, we are past hope in races, we are sullen with time’s constraints, with madness as an alternative lifestyle tied to every selfish gene, we ourselves, are free agents and will have to say whether we will play for heaven or hell or even decide to re-sign with the home team…

EJR ©