Pen, ink, tape, pencil

Front cover

Issue 54 of The Olivetree Review 

This drawing was inspired by a prose passage I had written. (see below)
And the train made a mysterious left turn, one I have never seen before. 
It was sharp. Today i was advocating dark clothing. Why? 
The night before i had time traveled. No where too ancient, just a couple of months. 
I look down, the water matched my clothing.
It was dark. Black water. A group of heartless daredevils. The polluted and rusty air blew into my eyes and dragged my abyss-locked gaze up into the present. Where am i? I went missing.
The wall has white symbols, a 4 and a 2. White is the color of surrender. I surrendered yesterday as i time traveled and went missing.
I allowed my mind to defrost. Uneasy at first. Motion sickness (maybe) but those sad beautiful frowning eyes soothed my discomfort. 
My body took control and we moaned and motioned in unison. Like waves of one body of water.
 My coffee grew cold as I began to speak in an Allen Ginsberg dialogue. 
Holy holy holy cow. 
This air conditioned car held society in its hands.
Chinese food. Gucci. Snapple and blonde hair. 
It reeked of new york saliva. 
xylophones and horns play out loud but only I can hear it. 
I yank the rubber band from my hair's grip, I unleash you! As I did yesterday. 
There's a dog on the train! 
Its spiked collar ironically invites me to think of him as a friend even though the pointy thing states "fuck off". 
Rooted, I remain on this peculiar train.
There is an eyeball on the tiled wall. Is it really just a mosaic? It is ours, a third. We all have one, Its strong. 
More symbols... Across from the eye the wall says, Chambers. Yes chambers! But I thought this was the land of the free! Silly fools. 
To others its a stop, to me it's a message. Not so secret for most people are aware. You are free no matter what. 
animals being watched in their cage. 
My god! The wAll now reads "high" this is crazy! The sharp ones catch this one. 
It is a speedy train after all. My thumb taps. 
tap tap tap maybe Parkinson's disease is caffeine overdose. One who has the jitters. 
(Loss of control no doubt.) 
Who will read these fragmental thoughts? Don't laugh. I don't know either. Qui scit? 
It is the result of this prolonged journey.
Ahh finally I get out of the congested box and walk up to another. 
An ape speaks in a different accent then mine and directs me to this isolated exit 
thank you brother 
outside I am lost. Multi colored Christmas lights lights fail and it's still dark. A giant pink starfish is friendly and I walk down the block. 
I reach the palace with 5 dazzling mandalas. I enter. 
I am a stranger here.
to all but one, we meet and together we become ghosts and fly up to where the sky is blue. Transparent, we watch the Naujo Orchestra play, blowing and dancing with their handcrafted instruments. 
We swim together for the company stands on top of a cruise ship. Orchestral surf. there's a shore in range. 
This land is a land of chaos. The girl with the snowflake face is silent. The ceremony is about to begin. The vulture that was following me burned and I had to leave. 
As the cremation ended we shrunk and dove into a small spherical theatre. 
The ceiling was beautifully geometric and the walls were simply sculpted. 
It was a show. 
The puppet master was a wardrobe of sounds. 
The wanting-to-be-real boy and his stage. 
his home, his womb, Fog fueled bodies joined him on stage. They danced. Stage dancers made of light and synthetic smoke. 
He wobbled with a guitar (Both wooden) radiating a modern medieval chant. Then moved on to a soundscape brew. He concocted a potion filled with every sound known to man. Hamsters in a plastic orb. 
ssssspinning, spinning. Like the train ride this story is proloooonged and extendeddd. 
When will this story end she writes. Qui scit?
The only smart transition was from the hand-held machine to this piece of paper. 
It begins. The reason why I am here, why we are all here. 
Perfect quadruplet plus two. The vocals of a romantic. 
not hopeless, his tone resembles hope. fit for a blue super moon.
a trumpet or two and an accordion. drums and a guitar the essentials of course.
double bass. 1 2 3 4 5 6 horns blow boy blow you are real this is real!
a messiah like man conducts the lined up silhouettes. 
hypnosis, sea of gypsies mesmerized, 
everything is blue. 
ukelele and maracas. 
old mexico super moon. 
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