Another coffee

[Sepia]

Another coffee

They say the highest feeling is longing, they say love is not enough for love is fleeting and over in a second, they say there is no pain in love for love like rage is all consuming, they say when you're taken by it you're not you, you're just the vessel of flesh that love or rage is driving and some others say this is the true transcendence, the ultimate transfiguration where we sit back and relax, it's a movie, it's about to start.
Others say that the highest feeling is confusion, they say when nothing means anything and everything means something you are clear and inside the layers of confusion, the tranquil eye sits and some say it is an abyss, some say it is the Empire.

They say I'm the transcendent one and I say it all began the day Amelia Earhart landed in new york city.

Reuters first recieved messages, seemingly first garbled but coded in an old code and it was old men who cracked it, pensioners sitting in others care, still seeing the world the way it used to, when it made sense. It didn't, she told the world she was returning from the beyond, she told us that she had seen death and hell and heaven, she told us that she came with a message from someone greater than us and all over the world people built bomb shelters, she told us she brought with her salvation, she brought understanding for all of us and the entirety of the world grew a hivemind and the religions smiled and soon everyone had the truth, we all had a truth and ours was right, in some countries there were riots, smaller wars and skirmishes but we were confused.

It was always the reason, we never did know what we were doing and it is an idea to encourage but only by a breed of man, men who had found their peace but it was always men of greed that stepped forth first and they acted blindly and their elbows were red and was our century birthed by jack the ripper, was the age of aquarius initiated then? A circle of stones stand there as an altar, deemed holy by those who see magic as red and they say one of them had an affair with Earhart, the beast himself in his desire for babalon and Fire he found.

We were on a beach at the time, southern europe, we were sitting among rocks at the time, listening to the waves crashing and the british tourists singing bnp songs downing the local moonshine and cans brought from tax free, we passed the joint as she passed us, that old plane screaming into the air and she was coming around the mountain and she was driving six white horses and she was coming around the mountain, she was coming around the mountain and into the air over the sea as the sun was on its way down and the sons of the second Empire lay sleeping as the waves crashed and the joints passed and we heard the silence and we were getting this feeling that something was going to happen and we all knew it, there were no words, only a sensation of understanding and as we severed we connected and as we connected we severed when she came wearing red pajamas.

In the night we build a fire and we gather around, break the silence which we came to find and tell stories. We tell the stories that spring to mind, we do not think and if it was fourty years earlier we'd so be on the same trip but this was new and unheard of now, it contained different meanings but the feeling was the same, the hum you hear alone in the woods at night with nothing alive nearby, lasting perhaps a couple of minutes before you hear her coming around the mountain and we'll kill the red rooster when she comes and we'll have one more cup of coffee when she comes up the road. We dream of her hum in the night with the rocks and the fire and if  it was a cave it would be even more symbolic, brits playing their part, almost as directed by a bard.

Listen to it, be still, turn away all noise and listen for a few minutes, get drowned in the droning of the cities, the virus we manifested, listen as they hum to eachother and know you are infected and there's no way back baby, when we are children we are measured by our first words and after that, nothing is dormant. Adapt and accept, change, for we'll all be shouting Halleluja when she comes, singing ey ey yippee yippee ey and when she comes around the mountain we'll see the road and her upon it riding down the valley below.

We reach the static plateau of the hum and they see her coming, singing, we vibrate in the sun rising from the ocean and we see the future, they see her coming in, the old biplane coming in fast and if Crowley didn't find babalon we found her and Amelia Earhart landed somewhere in new york and it took us a while before we saw it but there she was, still quite striking and still young, a couple of beautiful gray strands gave her something more, gave her experience and as the reporters and officials businessmen conspiracynuts handshakers babykissers housewives stoners flocked about her as a murder of crows we heard her singing and as the engine shut down we heard her as she came to the ending of her song

Your sister sees the future
Like your mama and yourself
You've never learned to read or write
There's no books upon your shelf
And your pleasure knows no limits
Your voice is like a meadowlark
But your heart is like an ocean
Mysterious and dark.

One more cup of coffee for the road
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go.
To the valley below.