Zeke Fiddler


Dabbler, Doodler, Generalist,

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The Lucid Dreams of Volitile Memory

Wipe your hand across your mouth and laugh, and all will be right.
After all, the world is not what it seems.

So what if I started out slowly,
The Gal behind,
Stopped at every street corner
Collecting cigarette butts,
Stepped on every slimy leaf
That curls up like a squirrel in the grass.

Then why not
Give place and time for all these things,
To work your will upon a mountain of data.

But I have been wondering what the world is like
And coming to terms with being human,
Feeling the influences of many different people,
Talking to strangers on the telephone.

And should I then presume that they were all truthful,
All of whom I have known through the broken telephone lines?

I should have been a little suspicious, a little ...

And should I have been a little suspicious that I had spoken to one of these people?

I should have been a little suspicious that I was listening to their conversation on the telephone.

I should have been a bit like the child who sits silent in the hand of a parent who does not expect her to be at home,

Often seeming to wonder what it is that she has become.

Swing on the reed shades , and cling to the ceiling fan :
The tempest roars in the room and shakes the house.
After all, the world is not what it seems.

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