Machine 2

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This decade comes to an end in one hour and six minutes. Thank god. I am exhausted. All that pretending. All that working. All that pretending to work to please other people. A performance. I will tell the truth in the next decade. Nothing but the truth. So help me god. I want answers. I feel determined. This is a new feeling for me. Must be the Zeitgeist. Or something beyond the beyond. Three minutes before the hour. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. 10:57pm. Getting there.

The plastic Lego pieces are far too many. Will the kid ever put the machine together? It is a spacetime machine. I hope it gets him where he wants to go. Deserves it. A determined kid. The bigger kid wants to stay up until midnight. Why? He says everybody is doing it. Says it is a tradition. So what? I want to go to sleep. I want to dream. This piece keeps getting longer and longer. Might be a novel. Might be the Kraken.

Can you imagine the dead calm of the Great South Bay? I can. The murky water. The clam boat. Turbulent black clouds over Fire Island. I must flee. East or West? Towers of a metropolis loom on the horizon. A UFO hovers over the Empire State Building. Using the Zeppelin docking port.

This book must show an agitated consciousness. An agitated state of mind. An agitated being. People are interacting. Everywhere. Always. Until there are no people. What then? Who will write the novels? We must prepare the machines. They must be ready.

I need people to say things to me. Talk. You know. Conversation. Dialogue. Monologue. Anything. Anything to get this machine buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz out of my ears. 

I believe in you. Whoever you are. Things keep getting weirder by the hour. I keep looking out the window. Stir of ink black tree branches. Did the Con Edison guy come in the morning to read the meter? Was that him buzzing the buzzer? He sure comes early. Early in the morning. Early in the year. Everybody wants electric. I keep fighting with my wife over how to raise the kids. Is there a right way? Do people get it right? 

Are we on TV? This might be the craziest novel in the history of Amerika. Might not be a novel. Might be. Is. Must be. Ess Muss Sein. K. and I lay naked on a bed in a rented room on the edge of Prague. We are good friends. We fuck like lovers. I almost make her come. Now, the stakes are higher. Everything is on the line. I am a writer. Sentences and words keep piling and piling on. Are we getting anywhere? Should we be getting somewhere? What are your expectations? Do you have any expectations? Do we surrender yet? Nah. I like this. We can go on forever.

Pages and pages and pages of manuscript in electronic form. What does it really mean, if anything? We scroll through each other’s consciousness. Perhaps too quickly. I remember your eyes. Blue eyes. I remember your eyes. Hazel eyes. I remember forgetting everything I ever remembered. And then waking up, surprised & ecstatic: I remember everything!

I remember the law. I remember the way it kicked my ass. Killed my friends. A machinist must keep going. Running on empty. Whatever the cost. Sell all your books. Keep writing. Ink. Spiral notebooks are sanctuaries. The library is a cathedral. The solitude of a coffeeshop. 

Yeah well yeah, I’m tired. Writing a novel is no joke. So why am I laughing? I have no choice. Spontaneous bursts of laughter. Try it, if your System allows it. Of course, it is unpredictable.

Started reading Gaddis. You ever read Gaddis? JR is a weird book. Starting to think I might like it. A machinist needs a friend. A machinist friend. Even from Farmingdale. Or Levittown. Or Patchogue. Language accumulates. Reaches a bursting point. Spit it out. Talk. Speak. Utter.

Ink is cheap. Blood is not.

Yes well yes, now what? Is Pompeo the Secretary of State? Believe so. Supposed to travel to Ukraine. Postponed as I understand. Looks forward to his visit, if it ever happens. Wait & see.

International affairs are my forte. As you can probably imagine. I am a novelist. I know almost everything. Mystery, however, is important. Intrigue. The unknown unknowns. Etcetera. I once served President Václav Havel as an elevator operator. The elevator was malfunctioning. Havel took the stairs. I remember Peter Sellers in the film Being There. I remember the novel.

The exoplanet K2-18b is a sub-Neptune planet to keep your strongest eyeball on. Astronomers detect water vapor and clouds on this small planet orbiting a nearby M3-dwarf star at a distance placing it “firmly” in the habitable zone. The planet is 124 light-years away from earth. Orbiting a sun every 33 days.

A light-year is almost six trillion miles.

Closer to earth is Proxima Centauri-b. At 4.2 light-years away, it is the closest exoplanet to earth. That is just 25 trillion miles away. It orbits a red dwarf star in a triple-star system. What is perhaps even more incredible is that the closest exoplanet orbits a sun in the habitable zone.

Are you following the footsteps of the ox?

There is a Zen chant:

The whole Universe is an ocean
of dazzling light,
And on it dance the waves of
life and death.

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