The business of isness is jizzness
Dig: I couldn’t wake up this morning, man. I mean, I rolled off of what’s sufficing as a bed these days, rubbed my blurry eyes, went and brushed my teeth and cleaned up, but it’s one of those classic examples of, well, the crayon I’ve got today to connect the dots is in a weird color, and it only shows up in certain lighting. But the good news is, I feel relatively good. It’s a brand new day, and I know how to do the zampoughi.
Now, please forgive me for making a statement that “the business of isness is jizzness.” In less gauche words, what I’m saying is that dialing into feeling consciousness and changing your mood from crunty dyspepsis to bubbling over with effervescence is a necessary component one needs to master before venturing out into the world. I read a book one time — well, in Samuel Goldwyn terms, I read part of it all the way through — by one of those self-help gurus, I can’t remember her name now, but the gist of it was that the outer shell we present to others is governed by the temperature and flavor of our inner moods. Meaning: If we can change the way we feel, we can change outcomes from negative or nebulous to bright and shiny. New Pontics for everybody, just like on Oprah!
Sorry, I’m not making sense. I did mention that this morning, I woke up and my crayon was a weird color, and the pictures I’m drawing with it are coming out different that the pictures in my head. Ever have days like that? At least I’m not hobbled by weird dreams the way I was a couple of days ago, when I dreamed I was up on some property I owned in the hills (actually, I currently don’t own shit), walking along a gravel road, and someone had landed a private jet on the road. I walked up to the front of the plane, and out popped Marlon Brando, who had some advice for me on how to make those shifts that will propel me from loserdom to the blazing and brilliant success he was utterly confident awaited me just around the bend. I can’t remember anything he said; we walked among boulders, looking at the ocean beyond; it was here, here at the dude ranch, above the sea or something. I can’t remember now. And I’m guessing I could use that advice.
You know, some days are just non-sequiturs. And from where I sit now, I hear banjo music. —Jackson Griffith