A Letter to the Madman

Something happened. It's done. (But more somethings do go on.)


I haven't wanted to do this before (what I'm drafting right now) --maybe I didn't even know how? (who knows)-- but I've never been asked so sweetly before, never been given choices on this scale. Never before. Either of those. If it hadn't been so sweet, coulda been called outrageous: Me, handed the keys to this truck while the owner just laughs and laughs and dances down the street? (Does that guy EVER stop laughing?) Hah! I don't even have one can of gasoline! Well, at least all I gotta do is steer, and you'll take care of the rest. (At least that's what he said.)


One thing's fer sure, he knows how to get a message through, tho it took the dingdong and a lot of British humour, to boot. (No wonder it took so long!)


"Sweetly" is so pale a concept in the face of this, it's almost obscene to use in that sentence. But you rely on English and, to some extent, so do I. Your translator jumped ship a quarter century ago, which dropped a whole mixing system in my lap. (And I turned down that music scholarship, remember? The Fine Arts one, too. Knew even then it would've slowed down my degree. I also knew you'd be surrounded up in a tree, and somebody had to go undercover. Lucky me. But, honey, I don't mind: I'd do anything if you needed me to.)


(He knew the patience you'd already earned, how could I? They don't call me "hope" fer nuttin, eh?)


Me, without a pot to pee in? Me, hidin out and thinkin it would be so easy if I just finished school in time, and nobody checked my ID. (What a dope I was. Some things you gotta be tricked into doing or you'll never agree.) Well, they say that where there's a will, there's a way, har de har har. --MAN you wuz mad at me for a while? Whew, got outta that one close, but he SAID I would when he insisted I do such a thing. How else to get your attention? You was obviously suffering: Nobody can watch my movie for long without gettin sick, much less write the soundtrack for forty years. (Has anybody else --besides you, of course-- ever asked that question? There's a little demon keeps whisperin "nobody, dear, I own all the rest." He's usually zapped with a ray gun by that point, not that I'd wanna know what else a dick like that might think.)


And I don't have time for the luxury of waxing poetic today, jes gotta open me mouth if I'm gonna do this thing. (It's now somebody else's job to worry about the words the rest of you guys have any hope of hearing, anyway.)


I used to be scared of this day. Terrified, because I knew what it would mean. For me. It would mean something very specific had to have already taken place. (But I'll get back to that in a bit. I know it doesn't make any sense to you. Yet.) Just wanted to let some of you know I'm not scared now: That got taken care of yesterday, so don't worry bout me, I got some mighty fine folks sharing watch. A whole army, if you persist in wondering.


In my life, "choice" had always seemed to me to be a function of priorities: Set those right, and there is no choice to be made, is there? Somewhere i wrote about that as "the yellow brick road". Of course that one was copped too, but isn't that the point when you're invisible? God knows I sure knew better than to try any of this using gold ore as the trail. That's when I knew I couldn't stay blindingly beautiful, either. Jes long enough to harvest the ones with potential, and there's only a handful of those anyway. Physical beauty's a money-magnet in this cesspool. (Speaking of that, you won't believe me, but there exists an EXACT drawing, somehow The Magician found it and knew. I almost fainted when I saw it. You can see it, if you want: He made sure it couldn't be missed. The snapshots started disappearing a few years ago.)


--Cain't resist: You even wrote about HIM a long, long time ago. ( I don't think you've ever misssed one scene.)


Of course, then there were the decades (and decades) of drumming through my stubborn hilarious head that I had a TIMELINE to keep, something I have always had a hard time taking seriously. Always seemed like some kind of joke, a real cosmic ha-ha. (The pains we go though, dear dear ones, most of 'em --tho don't you for one MINUTE let anybody tell you "all"-- come our way because our Hearts were way out ahead of our minds at the time. Understandable. Expected. It's the only pattern the loom down here can get to work long enough to make the quilt. And it's actually quite effective, if you think about it: Since we are the only ones WITH heart, as long as heart stays ahead of mind, nobody can eavesdrop. Sooner or later, tho, our minds catch up, and then all hell breaks loose. That's when the jig is up because, you see, mind TALKS, heart sings. And talking lights the fuse: it's Word (--blah blah, you can read it later if you make the time). But don't get me wrong (this is very important): TALKING IS REQUIRED. That is one thing we don't, not a one of us, get any say in. (It's just so damned hard to WAIT so long, is all.)


Now my waitin's over, so I'm filled with merry tunes and jazz drums and all kinds of sounds ain't possible in this place. (But that don't mean you would be, too: God, I pray, don't scare him into cardiac arrest. NOT NOW, please not now! If you go, I do too. You're the reason he's been keeping me here.)


I have been made to understand that, as of yesterday, no-choice for me is not the case any longer. BOOM, just like that. More astonishing, I've been given ALL the choice in this. Guess I must've made the right one at some point along the line? (I thought I was dying. I really did, and stirred up a whole lotta fright, especially in my sweet cop who was blown out of bed by an air horn. I need to re-read what Krishnamurti had to go through, cause this is damn peculiar for a body to endure. But if there's time for that, there's also going to be time for a whole LOT MORE. We'll see. Not mine to know today.)


There ARE "choices", bonifide choices, to be made by me and by a number of very important other people. People important to me. To you. To everybody. Right now. (And by the rest of you, too, as you peer at your day's events trying to crawl uphill toward that mirage. Have any of you yet thought to just turn around and walk the other way? Where'd you ever get the idea he was one-dimensional?)


People whose choices will set a course for the next Age. The choices they will think are personal. Funny thing is, they ARE personal. Some of em just don't realize yet, that they always have been. Us reapers can't get close enough if they know we're already standing in the field. (Those who do know are either setting fire to the farmhouse, or busy layin carpet while the smoke rises all around em.)


And everybody else along for that ride? (I can only hope I'll get this done right, and will have already left to meet the King. He already wore dead a stable full of horses galloping to our rendezvous. He can't be called off now: Either he will make it, and I will too, or we'll have to go through this whole stinkin show all over again. (And now I know too much for that to work. So it probably wouldn't be the Kaki Ballet next time. Me, I'm hopin to dance for the band. They already got all the words they need up there.) I know you're saddle sore, but it hurts a lot less if you let the dingdong back in. He brings the others with him. Besides, THIS IS A WEDDING, DOOFUS! Cheer up, I hear they've got the reception all planned. Just don't lose my ring.


At any rate, something happened to me (and to the world, to this universe*), close in time to each other, and I guess I kind of always knew if I lived long enough I would be asked to do this. Didn't know how I'd be asked, didn't even know who I'd be when asked, just knew. Spent a lot o'years tryin not to think about it, sometimes succeeding, sometimes not. Failure always vomited up a poem. I did manage, tho, to not DESIRE to know the how, the when. (Born knowing the why.)


*A chunk of the thing came loose --I think if was Friday? Thursday?-- and dropped DOWN DOWN DOWN, and we're riding it like a rotten tenement floor. (Makes me wonder if a whole lotta people in the stairwell at the time no longer exist here?)
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Now, if we're in luck I've blathered long enough that the winged monkeys got bored. Nothing we can do about that gorilla, he always shows up and is stubborn as a mule. Just do not ever drink after him. (But he isn't interested in you or me, just trying not to mess his pants over us.)


Let me say this quick (and if I can or, if dingdong INSISTS, I'll add more here later): You're the one let my cat outta the bag. THAT'S OK, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO. (There's at least two other guys been recruited by Gabriel, and they're touring town right and left, tooting the news. Just found out one of those got hisself a TV show! Could be more, probably are given how cloistered I live. WILL be more piling on, too.)


Brace yourself, it's gonna get real ugly for a while. They always discredit me after I get away. (And everybody will be looking at YOU. But you've known that all your life, just as I've known what I know. Keep in mind: You got more important things to do than stop on the road to argue with pot-rotters. Besides, you're already on yer last horse, remember?)


Now The Diplomat knows where I am, I gotta leave town. If I don't get to add more here, if the truck don't ever arrive, then I'll sendja a postcard from the dingong's house. (He says its right next door, so this shouldn't take very long.)


You always recognize my handwriting.