The next hours, Igors heart was spread open to the sky and the earth and he had no awareness of time. Only blinding white, boiling green and glistering azure, and scents that took him from one ecstasy into the next. Many animals conversed with him in this state, including a large boa constrictor. But when Igor regained consciousness of time, he was at the cool surf under a dark purple sky. He took off his clothes and slowly, àlmost reverently walked into the waves.
The waves came rhythmically, soothingly and languidly, and he was tempted oh so tempted to wade in, to merge with it, the blueness of infinity, and and
he still can can can to be sure, but reservations not made
+think of all the little ones, so the great divide between sea, surf and sky will just have to wait.
& dealt with on their own terms.
The jetstream has to carry him, has to, into the ring of fire,
through and through. But I am getting through this for sure,
he thought, by the skin of our teeth.
Enclosed in the sea, Igor remembers his birth. Yet the call of the distant jungle reminds him of inclusion among the living.
He has to make a choice between drowning in the known sea of his origin and joining the screaming jungle of his adulthood.
Sandy cannot help. She has her own life to live. Neither can Rigor or Vigor come to his aid. They are only aspects of his dilemma.
Now that the surf was just a vague hissing behind? under? inside? the rustling of leaves and crackling of shrubbery, Igor wondered if there really was a big difference between past and future; when suddenly a bat lowered down in front of him, and pierced into his mind with red eyes.
The bat said in a radarvoice, here it begins. And zip he was up and gone in the foliage darkening…
A figure was moving in the forest. A shadow, it was quick and agile, and had Igor in its sights. It did not seem dangerous, but it was clearly apprehensive of him. The latter now walked towards the figure, which froze, and also tread forward, out of the shadow, and took on the light of color.
As soon as Igor recognized a womans soul in the features the the onslaught of sounds that broke loose was deafening. Creatures large and larger came out of the woodwork and let loose raw bursts of audio to sustain their blatant visual presence and Igor was annoyed with the burden of choice nature forces upon herself, and was glad that he had a path to an indivisible figure, or figurine, he thought cutely. The jungle did its best to envelop Igor in a state of paralysis but it was a cocoon, really, the heat and the moisture and noise and the ground as it sank under his feet every step he took.
A man in his mind, hydroperoxided hair, stood calling “do you see me reaching for my wallet?”
He thought and thought! And course right on by the descemt tinto the primeval, and ad the old baron dsd I don’t remember I don’t remember.
As if that modern of modern said sadly said the forest
Is never the same on descent , always newly built
upon ,the thickly primeval, a little dash of grown laid. foundation in addition.
This is why the mean of averages that of the human mean has always more and ! more aspire in its entrails.so as to slow the descemt except by those whose cuts shorted and cut through , shorted cut up then reassembled to appear something like the original
Models aways stand up creating havoc on. feel and touch .l
He belongs you don’t he says and envy can not but reinforce the ennui .
Should he
I’ve
While waiting for the ring in an original organic melancholy while boy downstairs in market so in that out means little to him , as if, it has adhered to his body creating a new skin,
,\the deeper going in the shallower out ,as if the primeval
transference loosing it’s sheen, masking it, into its very adherence .
Safely said since he too will go out as he came in. But really all this no matter the Brooklyn poet thus well described it, of vanity of this kind. Of basic identity consistent with the warm glow of nationality of the undispersed kind.
It’s beautiful to behold as grotesque in its adherence do easily to disassemble by little sleight of hand magic.
That Europe is in this now struggle boding as was well said before! The sound of which clamoring louder still.
,
And louder still. While discernment upon unities lack , slowly but surely, apolitically, the Idiot and Hans Castorp side by side apparently,purporting an inadvertent anomalies!
And yet the social plan of mpremium mixtures, o master plan, as it is sure that no social ideal be the result of a plan other then shift toward appearance of it re instituting the model of it as it was an invention,but truly only a reappraisal?
No socialism can survive without the rebirth of an older one , one where the young have inordinate need to weigh in on the the re appearance of mixed forms, intangible hybrids whereby they , left to their own devices must invent their own ideas!
No the projections arising out of the anomalous social artifact of socialism breeding dependencies and unearned values?
No. Igor is more than an idiot he dares to say, in him the seeds of a universal ngst does !manifest within the sole of every alienated man, whose struggle to contain that which tears him apart, who see in this struggle only his pitiful sense of his own maladaptive self repressed idol, the Christ like hero for worse he becomes but better sees but does not understand?
This pitiful break is no pathogen, it is but what caused him to either overly belittle himself or grow into his own monster. Frankenstein’s helper.
If like a terrible midget he steals the gold from the river which never can be said to be the same, where it’s allure and sheen , it’s magic glimmer deep, underground, the bedrock of letters,
where it all started amid mountains of slavery?
This all for the littlest among us, the disadvantaged, the temples upon, lured into a social realism of brother hood based on a reprogrammed false ideal?
All of what he is is only a description of something though up long ago , and him that becoming, he becomes his own monster and slayer of dragons.
And unearned but depreciated values risen out of the amagamn of s need for dependence and love, can in this tricksters fancy ,quickly turn against the false idol.
Here Igor would disclaim his obedience to his creator , rebel and overthrow him, and sow violence out of the admiration and gratitude. The twofold reduction of his senses and his mind, manifest in sort of new found hope in some kind of recurrence by a wish come miracle overvalued of remembrances of a long past world, gone with an Eastern wind merely pressed to the apogee of thin families of remembrances.
Everyone by his need, and by stroke of pen, the dissent ended in gulags and institutions.
So talk of the two, betwixt the third arise, whether the Antichrist will he bevome, the poor date of lost and unmurturrf vagabonds , and children of the abyss!
And Igor likewise sought to pour out of the ever deepening solace that the ring can produce. The only complete form of eternally tied ends.
Igor went hid way, nausea betook him, him the self though man, raggedly living next to the library’s courtyard, let no fear brake him, the traveling prince! Napoleon in rags, .
Igor sitting in a cafe thinking to himself how the. astrangements a symptom of the times which is a metaphore for illness.
His metaphore he thinks is not unique, like a rubber band stretched to its limit the health becoming a defining mode of degrees of ilness rather then the other way around. As way of defining both relationally.
But, this the question, can adaptation measure up to its limit,thereby opening another channel of limits?
Igor sitting in a cafe, examining faces passing,usually faceless ones in tours, instantly removing gaze as soon as the other noticed.
They cannot help expressly You are right, but there is a hidden answer in the deep river where shiimmering gold are recoverable. Narcissus saw the gold only in the form of his own reflection off the surface,whereas the real gold its true meaning subsided. As it were the true helpers were like the maidens underneath the river.
Stumbling forth as well as he could, his left leg numb where it didnt burn, his neck blue and sore, his right eye black and shut, Igor found his way to the hut he had made the previous afternoon using some plastic from the beach for a roof. He wondered how he was going to climb up, but he was satisfied with the days events. He still heard the snap as he had bitten through the wolfs spinal chord. He hoped that he hadnt contracted some kind of rabies. On the other hand, that may be fun. He didnt have a great deal to lose by it in this jungle. Or so his thoughts played their song of acceptance as his body repaired itself.
Maybe, Igor figured as he approached the tree carrying his domicile, contracting rabies is essential to advance in this world.
As he painfully climbered into the tree, he began making guttural noises.
An eagle cried overhead.
The eagle cried, “I am!”
Miles down below, a mouse scurried to a hole in an ancient wall. Its heart squeaked, “I am!”
In between, Igor, pressed into his seat in his brothers jetplane taking off, wonders, “what, and whatever for, am I?”
Far above and below all, a bearded old man epically presses his palm to his face.
As the Mediterranean zooms by, azure and blistering in the sun that rises below him, Igor sees, in a flash that slows down time almost for good in his heart, the outline of the eagle. Poised inside the sky. Ten it is gone a shadow of a figment and forgotten except Igor suddenly realizes, with full force almost so as to stop in mid air and rip through the rear end of the plane, and sit in buddhic levitation for ten seconds like Wile E Coyote, searching the burning horizon for that Eagle, that fixed sign of the sky, and even though none of this happened, the Eagle slowed down Igors heart and he began to understand that his heart had been beating very fast, all this time. Igor woke up from a slumber in Gamma-land and slow-jived with the coast of Lybia when the plane took a steep left and plummeted down to Tsjaad. Tsjaad, old Tsjaad, where his brother had his farm. Earth was cheap there. The minerals deep inside that Earth were not. Neither to dig up - Israeli contractors had bargained for 66 percent of the yield - nor to bid for in the Curtailed Lodge in Sri Lanka’s finest bellydancing estblishment, where the Sjeiks liked to gamble.
Vigor, waiting for his brother, was slightly annoyed at the shenanigans of two Sjeiks.
I will take your Ferrari if I throw this 2.
I will take your horse if you dont.
Which horse?
The second one you showed me.
Sjeik 1 gets up in rage and throws the dice to the head of the second.
Never will I relinquish Hernandez!
By God, then, I will take your head.
That is fine.
Of course, as God is with all oil Sjeiks (tautological statement) the man throws a 2.
Igor had pain in his ball. Not from being kicked in them, but from the stewardess.
He asked why the stewardess rejected his advances,so brutally and she had no explanation other then telling him that ahe merely kicked him out of the bathroom of which she forgot to lock the door. she said she could have forgiven him for that, after all it was her omission, however his further actions like displaying his manhood in its unabashed condition
went beyond propriety.
Then she moved away ,shoving him aside,adding tartly "
Incidentally,for future reference, i am not merely a stewardess but the divine garbo, and i vant to be left alone"
So p l e a s e move your grubby ass.
With that, she took up a tray of champaigne and left him there
dumbfounded.
He was so completely surprised, when upon landing, after all the passengers have left, she came back.
She, slyly sitting next to him, told him of her previous presentation was only a pretext for overtures she knew he would expect, and her layover in Prague was overnight, and he is welcome to come up and see her sometime in her Old Town apartment.
And then he asked her about her wanting to be alone, whereupon she hissed, : ’ I may not be Divine Garbo, but I am really divine.’ With that, the rest leaves not much to the imagination.