Triple Sec, Lawn Chairs & Cabibi

Today will be the most creative day you have ever lived…and why is this?

Hell, because you drove down to the Honda dealership, found a used Rabbit convertible, drove away in your pajamas while smoking Cubans…all the while blaring Athena on the radio.

And because you let your mind roar, your spirit soar…and never looked back, except in the rearview mirror, into the desert of your desires because some crazy Texan from Abilene, texted you a picture of a 1,800 hundred pound javelina, more like a wild boar, ugly as the underbelly of misanthropes with broken teeth, finally learning how to text.  Who is the question!

Creative days and somber nights, smoking marijuana in legal bars near Denver, toadstools and the undercurrent all jump out at you; yes you, today out of some lost classic like a The World According to Garp where nurses have sex with quadriplegics or in the closets next to the freshly folded towels.  Gotta have something to clean up with.

Where are you going to place a new intention, cry at the wolves eating small children just inside the city limits….  Hey, so it was a coyote, but it happened; this is not pure, non sequitur nonsense blithering across the internet….  Google Westminster, Colorado if you don’t believe me.

I remember encyclopedias: Hey, you could depend on encyclopedias: Cyclops have one eye, it is true.  Mars is the red planet.  Pluto was still a planet, because it was there like Mt. Everest climbed by Hillary because he was English and most Nepalese were too smart to even try.

But now there is the internet.  You can post hearsay, hyperboles, stolen poetry from T.S. Eliot and no one gives a damn.  It’s like the Wild West, free range literature, no rules, just blogging your butt off until you get a response.  Go ahead, butcher the English Language…no one cares anymore.  There was a time when you could actually depend on the written word. 

Years ago I had an English professor in College; she did have the little, round glasses, hair up in a bum, a schoolmarm of schoolmarms: Black, square-heeled shoes and pressed, symbolic dark dresses that hung below her knobby knees…and she would also bleed (in red ink) everything I wrote, what anyone wrote, as if prose could die a slow death at the mere stroke of her pen….she was sadistic that way.

I once read on the internet that the Virgin Mary appeared for the third time in a distant part of Serbia. Who makes this stuff up?

Grow a creative brain.  Refrain from the ordinary and the placid blasé array of watered-down buffalos that still roam the Himalayas.

Hey, this could be made up but it happened to me: I once encountered a family of water buffalos in the dark forests of Nepal, while I was smoking some damn good hash by the way, before the turn of the century.  It was a bull, a cow and a baby buffalo all in a line, in pecking order, and it was this huge standoff…they stared at me to get off the trail, and I, for some crazy reason, stared back—a stalemate.  Thinking I was going to get trampled, I still stood my ground on that narrow path.

It seemed like an eternity, not knowing what the wild animals would do; however, they gave in and walked around me as I peed on a nearby tree just missing my pants by about 30 seconds.

So what does this have to do with today?  Be creative, decide to have some damn fun…there is nothing else.  Did I mention the word “decide?”  Have you ever analyzed, taken to heart, realized the power of that word “decide?”  Google Bob Proctor, for he has a creative essay: “DECISION.”  Are there even essays anymore?  I miss essays, so I occasionally read Emerson to get a fix.

But I digress.

Did you sleep like a baby?  Why not?  Did you smile across the universe like John Lennon?  Did you, are you, will you, why not you go tap dance in some mountain bar in Vail, where prosperity sticks like the early afternoon snow, then drink Triple Sec, go sit on some woodened lawn chairs in the hot, 20 degree winter sun and look up “Cabibi” on the internet….

Believe in the infinite possibilities of your own mind trained to rush in where angels dare to tread; then soar, snore and get more out of this 24 hour day.  But I don’t have the time. I need more than 24 hours.  Bill Gates built a world-wide empire on only 24 hours.  Time may be the biggest illusion we as a people, as a race, are goaded into believing.

Dame, damn, live as if you were on fire and could not be put out.  Become more than you were yesterday so you can smear a probability across dark matter, in a quantum mechanical form and sing all the way to Gunnison…where it is the coldest place in the country again, 25 below.

Hey, I grew up there and woke up one morning and our calico was frozen outside to the front of the screen door.  Seriously, it was not me who forgot to let it in before going to bed.

These things happen…so post them in your blog and dream, as I do so very often about… selling encyclopedias.  And I wish the saying still applied: “Books are meant to be sold not read.”—Bill Streeter.

Gather up the courage to creatively live this open-bore day.

“Hooray and up she’s risin’.”