I've been clearing out part of the shed. One of the bays. I think of it as a future café, or perhaps even a place to sleep. I'll show ya. I'm taking certain old items—tire, rim, an old heavy plow, pure iron, the weight—and moving them into a different shed. A junk shed.
Now I'm taking my drill out there to reinforce the structure a bit. This is my playground, my school, my office, my church.
The beginning of the end of
The last history. This side
Of a black hole, a big bang, the
Epicenter, the mother lode, the lode star.
A star that leads, especially the
Polestar, the North Star of the Universe,
What is always in the center, 'lode' meaning
'The way,' the journey, the journey star.
From here to there, back from
Where we used to exist, via intergalactic canal,
Rowing upstream, rowing home,
Going back in time, into the place we
Go when we dream, time there
Suspended, fact there garbled and twisted.
It is all very real but also
Very far away, as if
It never even happened.
You look down at yourself from above, then you awake. You realize you have flies buzzing about you. Not a ton, but more than you would expect and somebody tells you,
"They'll go away after a while."
The flies are there because you have been dead. But you have come back and your second existence has started. You always go back to an existence that you have already had. That's why you want to have good existences.
The Writing of John B. Randall 