if the sky could only get a little bigger…..

focal points. it’s like….
maybe start here?
the glossary of mind and memory hasn’t been consulted in a long time.
in a lottery-sort-of-way, maybe the luck of the draw might help here.
maybe i can fashion some sense (though hardly fashion-sense), then get the synapses firing better than the ’61 ford falcon running on the same autolite spark plugs since the kennedy assassination that my mind has become.
i’m of the age who recalls the kennedys at this time of year, especially since becoming one twenty years ago, but that’s a story lying in state somewhere in my own capitol rotunda here.
if you want to exhume it, you gotta dig.

but i digress…..

from the glossary of mind and memory;
32. – Sensory register – A component of memory that holds incoming information in an unanalyzed form for a very brief period of time (probably less than a second for visual input and two or three seconds for auditory input).
that would mean, in my life, the hard drive in between my ears has filed (if only for a second), as much information into its sensory register as there are grains of sand on a beach; imagine that.

there, i used it in a sentence.

needless to say, as evidenced by the lead photo, i went to the safe, cold, grey and windy confines of fort tilden, doing the things i always do when i go there.
“checking-in,” as i parked in the lot, i noted the black mercedes SUV in the near, left corner as i rolled in. i didn’t need to be psychic to know who was sitting in the driver’s seat keeping a low profile.
i thought for a moment why he keeps to the parking spots located in the corners. i’m sure that if i do approach the car, the window will roll down and before saying hello, he’d tell me why, just to show off his ability to read my mind.
he always does, which leads to another question;
why do mind-reading, galactic creatures who are a giant step above humanity in the universal food-chain find it necessary to show off?
all the time?
i’d have to say it’s something like an obnoxious relative pulling a quarter from behind your ear and using the same self-congratulatary, “what’s this here? OH, it’s a quarter!,” but by now he knows about that too, the big ham.
please excuse the rant.
mind-reading lizard people get on my nerves sometimes.
my relationship with these grifters extends three years now and to understand my occasional agitation, you’d have to travel back a bunch of posts to know where it comes from.
it’s a relationship thing, even if it’s intergalactic….
needless to say, i chose to wave to the eduardo ciannelli-sounding guy (who looks like omar sharif) rather than approach the lowering window and get into it the whole “you know – i thought – i said – you knew i would,” and that one-upsmanship nonsense.
as a mind-reading grifting lizard he already knew this, so the driver’s-side window never budged.
he also knows that i’ve been distracted from the things that bind us – i.e. – the grifting lizards’ dietary adventures, who and how they prepare their culinary experiences, their elaborate set-ups, the history of why they’ve been doing this through the ages and most of all; who those other aliens are that scoop up humanity by the shovelful and use them like AA batteries – for a myriad of human reasons.
what a way to go.
they’ve never been forward with information about them (the battery aliens) and have been successful at stonewalling attempts i’ve made to get information to that end.
subsequently, i’m forever glancing over my shoulder wherever i walk.
besides, i’ve gotten caught up with a humanity-thing that’s caused me to prioritize things differently.

but that’s something for somewhere else, later.

to me, it’s bigger than everything between here and “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension,” and to understand that too, you might need to learn about ken lay, the umbo box, the lizard who wears ayn rand and why “atlas shrugged” might be the funniest dietary supplement of a book ever written (on certain planets), among other things.
i thumbnail a number of these notions in a piece that was put into a blog entitled “the music underground,” the point being, the shift in what matters to me trumped space aliens.

imagine, it took all these words to say, “me and maxx just kept walking because something else matters.”

we walked from the parking lot onto the beach where i began to shoot photos with my phone. my camera says this when i press the power button –
“turn the power off and on again”
it’s been doing this for two weeks now but i still bring it with me, hoping that it would change. i foolishly hope that the rest will have cured it.
i turn it off but don’t turn it on again.
i put it in its case and throw it in my record bag, resting it against the frankenstein mac laptop, sharing space with the maxx’s waterbowl and the bottle of poland spring and go in search of the big tire.
as i walk east, toward jacob riis park and the one-time largest parking lot in the world, i already know that the big tire remains buried.
i can tell by the height of the pilings.

any chance of the big tire appearing, those pilings need to be four or five feet higher. i haven’t seen the big tire in almost a year but know that it’s traveled hither and yon on this beach.
i’ve charted the big tire for longer than i’ve known that eduardo ciannelli-sounding grifting lizard-guy, his olive-skinned lady companion with the sharp little teeth who lent me those amazing binoculars, the day i saw ken lay on that ship,
the big tire is due.
i just know it.
besides, it’s something i can lord over that lizard guy.
he might be able to read our feeble human minds, but it can’t track an inanimate object i’ve given a life and personality to.
grifting martian lizards don’t get it.

we turned away from the beach and headed to the marsh of the great blue heron. i’m always hoping to see the great blue heron, but haven’t since that first time when i wasn’t “camera-ready.”.
i took a photo of the marsh from a different vantage point this day, from behind it, looking out toward the path.

i would try to make small life-shifts on this day.
i would take a new path to find my way to the nike missile base.
i would tell myself that this will somehow impact my friend’s situation.
i do these things all the time, hoping it might shift the mega-universal planes of existence i believe have something to do with everything, everywhere.
that it matters somehow.

i walked into a clearing where sat a cinderblock, all alone.

i couldn’t figure out why i felt the way i did, but i’m sure it had to do with isolation. it reminded me of my friend’s situation.
i walked into the space and sat there, trying to get in touch with her or the feeling of her. i was cloaked with sadness in these feelings.
i ached.
after a few moments, i walked further in the direction of the missile site and found my way in.
because of the new vantage point, i found another way into the underground chamber, the place i found and photographed a year or so ago.
if i wasn’t alone and maxx had someone to watch him, i’d been down there in a hot minute.

instead, after clicking a pic with my phone, i walked on and found a hastily-prepared bench. i slowly and carefully sat on it and took out my frankenstein laptop. the whole time there, i waited for it to collapse and me with it.

that’s me – livin’ on the edge.

last week, i was interviewed by someone who writes for a fairly new national blog known as Patch.com.
after our chat – her name’s sonya – in which i told her about me being a writer and all, i went to the site and noticed that they’re hiring.
i quickly ascertained that it’s grassroots oriented.
so here i am trying to learn how to navigate a website and reading something that’s telling me to send my….resume?

About stephen trimboli

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