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(Being an epic tale in which the hippie Rip VW
goes to
sleep on the beach and wakes up in 2005)
Brought up in an infinite country of light
my eyes were my
hands fondling
the undulating curve of summers I sped
through
whose days were rich in lust, bare chested,
hot as
sin. As eye catching as the cotton
shorts of girls whose
bodies smelled of vanilla
over melting ice. By the side of the
ocean
I lay down to sleep with the sand as pillow,
the sun
for a clock for what boy born was not born
to wrest from
himself the truth of his nature
unfolding out of the myth of
his dreams
where the metaphors of discovery float
in the
light before him he has only to reach out
to touch falling out
of the mind of God,
as unlike man as man is to Him.
Of the names that are holy, that write themselves
in my
unfinished book are San Diego, La Jolla,
Santa Barbara, San
Luis Obispo, San Francisco,
and all points between where a
surf board can float
or the Pacific Ocean anoint what better
place
from which to begin? How is it then, by what means
did
I get here? To an age of distraction. A time
of blatant
deceits. The deceptive usurpation
of causes to make ulterior
ends meet where the poor
go hungry and the dead are expected
to bury themselves.
A time that believes only what it wants to
hear
as if born from the chaos of its own exhaustion
come
derivative second hand prophets of commercialism
with ash can
visions and acrylic religions suckled
on the fetish of
Postmodernism.
Let the Postmodern confess its sins for its milk
has soured
as have our dispositions and everywhere
we look migraines of
mischief riot forth like infestations
proclaiming the
Postmodern has failed to deliver
on what it promised. In the
sputter of its devious flight
it became both a serpent and
clown of wounds
saying one thing and doing another until the
present
came down with a bad case of heartburn caused by fruit
cake
delusions wrapped in bohemian rags of millennial
visions
leading us along the apocalyptic road a long way
toward doomed.
Of the late great Postmodern what can be
said?
Its obituary is already written. Trying to escape the
mistakes
of the past it committed every damned one of them.
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