mmmmix

The Hot Air Balloon

     And how thinking about one thing
     is the same as thinking about another
                                     —Elaine Kahn

can i ever relate to that sentiment!
realizing my relatability to those
words, though (and thinking about
the phrase “everything is relative”),
has me wondering what that means
about me (i’ll refrain from offering
any thoughts about what that might
mean for the author who penned such
a poignant pair of lines, which, i suppose,
is me saying this is about me, right?).
what i’m saying, though, is that my
thoughts tend to blend together
all too often into a goulash in
which everything is intertwined,
so much so that it might be
suggested that all of those
become one driving thought
or notion. one subject. that
i’m only and consistently really
concentrating on only one thing.
but also that my focus can on
occasion be less of a goulash
and more of a drive insistent
upon what could be honed
down descriptively into a
few short words. a line,
maybe two. also, while i
try hard to be charitable
or open-minded or, well,
i even feel i can generally
read individuals, be they
strangers or the best of
friends (back when i had
some with any consistency
and proximity. oh, del is
short for chip on shoulder.
i do have friends. but none
at all in proximity. i mean
none that i’ve seen in years, 

despite my long past filled 

with camaraderie, and, of late,

my fairly persistent efforts. now
hush about that.), i consider
myself a person who gets a
fairly good read on anyone
in a short duration of time.
but deep down i know better,
especially when my focus
narrows and the goulash
has, say, only one ingredient,
is therefore not goulash. we
all project ourselves onto others,
right? how else might we even
begin to understand a stranger.
but in order to connect, in order
to engage, and believe it or not,
this is my primary goal, the single
most important thing for which i
live, isn’t it funny? but, i kid you
not. and yet, when that focus has
narrowed, for whatever reason (is
this the great mystery of me? hm,
it’s probably not in the least myst
erious.) almost all i can see in
most everyone i encounter,
whomever and wherever they
happen to be, is me. inevitably,
when my brain turns back to an
admixture, a mush, a goulash,
so to speak, it’s then that i
see how narrow my vision,
how incorrect the scope of
my understanding, basically,
how idiotic my idea that i
might really know who this
person or that might truth

fully be? and while i don’t 

think that realization, that

half-primitive reckoning, is 

good enough by any means,
i do keep striving for better,
and try to remember that
that realization is perhaps
better than never seeing
even that clearly, is
at least knowing
something (about me, 

nevertheless, and

not about anyone else). 

meanwhile all of the 

various whatnots,

all the stuff and 

nonsense within

this knotted up
and hollowed out
fixture that sits but
wobbly atop my neck,

go back to their most

common and amalgamated

state like a tornado filled

with planks and fenceposts

and cows from nearby farm

yards, or like water that 

swirls as it is draining 

from a kitchen sink.