The calm in the middle
The storm all around
I listen and hear
the voice with no sound
Once a martyr
Once for a long long time
Half grown up whisper
Flames of inner
Life burns up
The first stories
We become him
Us tourists gaze
At People Art
Living puzzled constructs
Wabi sabi hearts
Wondering: Is storytelling is a game an art a meal? Perhaps the recipie requires some fine story ingredients. You may want a fabulous chef. Mostly does story proceed from the hunger. Formed from desire, from hungry eyes and ears and hearts and wanting to play and taste and feel and be becoming. Or something like that.
Like Runescape, or a sport team you want to be a part and play in it or just to be tied in, for it to matter what happens. People play to lose. People gamble to lose. How I found that out is it’s own story. The life of a story where it goes, how it trips and falls and what it falls into, how that into splashes, oozes smells. What it taste like mixed with blood in it’s mouth. Why it went there in the first place and won’t or can’t turn back. Or why it does or is or is not. What twisted it’s arm into doing That? Here it got cornered. There is the mess from when it totally failed. This is what other stories are telling about it.
Then you mix the two and get a person and their story it is even yummier. When you drop that story and the person into a group it gets even thicker and creamier, more satisfying comfort zero calorie food. Then you spread it out over a culture that bakes it and adds topping information density takes it gourmet.
Stories pop you right into the middle of them to sink or swim and swallow or take on water, or rush crash float spin. Like a player in a game you come out having won or lost. Can’t beat the five-beer feeling of a narrow escaping win. The feeling of your sports team getting creamed lingers the angry mob rousing bitter taste of tragedy in your mouth. Makes desire for sweet dessert of revenge rematch. Persistant hungry wondering of how and who and when that will set the world right and fill Thanksgiving appetite.
Story-Life invisible imagined game character life, might be effecting the actual evolution of life. Nothing is fascinating and delicious like the story of a person. People and stories fascinate. We hunger for this story like for food. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if its stalk story or fast story.
That’s must be why we have outrageously popular thriving Fast-Story chains.
Wondering is a defense mechanism.
Last time I thought I know what I believed and thought and it’s scale of “rightness” I was on a different metric system. The whole thing crashed and blew up. People died. Lives were ruined. You know the king was naked and all that.
Wondering assumes I don’t know yet and could use some alternate awareness than what I have now.
Wondering is a bet that someone else sees what I don’t see and I can catch the truth in the glimmer in their eye or in their posted word.
Because wondering implies that I have what it takes to sort it out eventually then measure design cut sew it into a fitting world view to wear in the World.
When I feel the shouts “the king is naked! ” I wonder if I’m the one shouting or if I’m the king.
I wont always be right. I will grow out of the clothes even if they worked. I do prefer not to wear clothes sometimes. So, when I figure someone is totally off you know say like our pet scapegoats the 1%, if I really had an answer or a solution or something to say to one of these the best thing would be to start by seeing a person. A person, sometimes naked like me. Then move on from there to what each of us knows and feels. Then to wondering about that. Freedom of speech all it means is it’s safe to wonder. I wonder If the fancy 1% really even get to enjoy the first amendment. To many mobs bitching to even have a second to wonder.
This is what I would have written in my private Morning Pages. Not sure it’s too naked to be walking the streets of the City of Light. But onward to Forty-Two.