Chapter 2

You are heading downtown. Crossing the pavement like marching soldiers in doubletime. You walk out Main Street, Big City, USA, wearing Sunday Best, Spring Fresh, Summer Green, Fall Tweed, Winter Cozy. Your face is clean, eyes sharp. With straight posture you
exhibit the opaque permanence of the previous age, and the undaunted hope of the next. Smile, the day has greeted you.
There are placards and billboards bright and loud. The megaphone of the masses blares in your ear. Your mind races to explain the assault of sensations and in turn creates its own captions and taglines. Human filth sprawled on a stoop reads, "Center of Gravity Low, Alcohol
Level High."
Street corner lezzies chat amongst their little dogs chirps. The preaching and aggrandizing and denouncing in Dolby Surround Sound® was a diatribe from every monument and park. A crowd of onlookers protrudes over the sidewalk and blocks the entrance to the
Coffee Stain cafe.
"Lance Armstrong had cancer, yes. But the other guy had more testosterone. He was a Cancer Warrior, a special soldier in the War on Life. We are all a part of that War here on planet America," a wanna-be demagogue declares. In mockery or mimicry, you can't decide, drunks dressed to golf smack their hands like aggressive meat patties. They pantomime the speakers
movements while barely standing upright.

"Six million chromosomes can not be wrong! Fourty-six strands of DNA! Chimpanzees deviate by one percent, the common house fly by three. The Chimpanzee at least is protected under law. What about the unborn human being? One hundred percent! All six million chromosomes! You say its inconvenient, an accident. Where was the condom? Responsibility? In law if you act in an irresponsible manner that leads to a homo sapiens death that is called negligent homicide."

Open mic, forum of public expression. Nothing is more human then to express. All value is determined by actions. Not only do you want to read on stage, despite the butterflies and diahrea, but others performances make inspiration for future photoshoots and the patrons possible models.

You take the stage and it sounds like this. "A blank piece of paper, without lines, allows me to describe without boundaries. Without left or right, up or down, the conventions of a safe and rational world. Let it lay down where circumstance determines, write the words as they come. No format or convention.

Electrons move around their nucleus, waves and pulses, each phase blending into the next; all curves. Greater energy brings a wider orbit, eventually sharing with other molecules, incorporating other energies. Is it not conceivable, when conversing on an intense level, like the Gestalt group had waxed on, that electrons of neurons escape their immediate orbit, the cell, even the brain, body proper; itself."

© Michael Mosher 2006