EXCELSIOR WAS SUCH A BORE

95. EXCELSIOR WAS SUCH A BORE:

I’m stuck in the dark distant city once more but I’m walking out of it this time - past and along old wooded lanes which EXIST of course no more and which are but remnants of something which once was and the old stone buildings are all around me – nothing modern nothing sleek – just all brown stone with windows into which above me here and there I can see and it’s all arranged as if some form of campus was once here a PERHAPS church community or something of that nature and what’s left are huge buildings adrift in the very middle of a much larger city which has grown up around them and whatever new uses can be made of these places are somehow being made and I see occasionally people within - people who are using space as warehouse or office or studio or design and the one in particular I enter or am brought to has literally hundreds of clocks of all sizes and sorts upon the walls and design sheets of other clock installations and designs to be made and it’s quite large and very wide and is covered in a gracious and almost luxury-ridden layout of rich design and wealthy use and as I am there I am aware of myself THERE too which of course takes me back way back somehow to that ‘self-consciousness’ again about awareness of what I am doing but no matter I am just as soon involved in talking to the very skinny woman who’s running things and her equally skinny assistant both women and both fashionable but way too bony and thin to make sense of and their attire and their raiment leaves much to be desired – almost as if they’d been consumed by their work and were flattening out their time and effort for nothing but whatever achievement they’d decided would be their goals and it made no sense to me as I didn’t share their thinking at all and right then I decide instead to let it all go and in attempting to return to my real place I realize I have none and there is none and I am befuddled but left there in seemingly another place and another world and with all of that I see there’s really nothing for me to do but remain and so I do and acclimating myself as best I can I walk off into the woods - woods which have now seemingly appeared where before I thought a city was and the endless ramp of streets has turned back somehow to the wild forests of another time and the trees are dense and only intermittently are there buildings and structures thrown up in the middle of clearings and amidst great trees and I realize in another way that this is the dream-center of a great city before it was anything and it is all – at this point – promise and possibility and without any parameters its formation was possible in any direction and in any manner befitting growth or whatever and so it is that here I am SLIDING as it were between time and some gracious path of something else (but alas the letdown comes when all the real at last intrudes again) - and sugaring any maple wherever it may be that skill itself is lost and piling up the million leafs of Fall wherever they may fall that skill itself is lost and befitting tall skyscrapers ever higher that skill is lost and singing harmonic songs beneath the open sky EVEN THAT skill is lost and instead I am perched about recovering something of time and force and energy on this dimensional plane of light and the heavy weight I feel is the gravity which encompasses me and all I see (‘and whatever harm the WICKED may do the harm of the GOOD is the worst!’).