Wednesday, January 21, 2004
One of the earliest tunes I can remember hearing began
An old cowpoke went riding out one dark and windy day...
Ghost Riders in the Sky
I see one of them now. He's grim but unbowed, with weather gear, and he ambles his pony along a trail which is a closed mountain cutback. The pathway is narrow, even edged in the center, and an actual cavern as he approaches me at the turn and dutifully continues back down into the depths.
I'm thinking...gorillas. I'm thinking...better climb off the trail. So, right where I am, just beyond the sharp angle the trail makes to cut down into the cave (yet I myself and the whole trail now seems to be subterranean; there's a rock roof over this dream) I step on brief outcroppings to my left.
I am thinking to outclimb gorillas.
Here they come.
They are unhurried and I see them, one then a couple then more, swarming up the trail. I am some feet up off their track, so feel safe somehow.
I am in a crowd which moves along another track now. This is a corridor of an airline terminal. Most of these I move with are young, and they are flashing actual movies from their cel phones. I realize what they are doing. They are exploding one another's mythology.
Like, there is a young lady, and she is with a slightly older gent. Someone is holding up images on his phone of her. She is making love to a variety of humans in the small pictures. There seems to be an infinite number of occasions which would embarrass most who were a part of a coupling with a partner not involved in the fun onscreen.
This is a game of tag. Oops, she sees, I'm out. She drops her pace and her now-ex-lover proceeds on down the corridor. She does not seem unduly distressed. It is all the same as if she had merely been caught by the yellow and now must wait through red. Oh, well.
All up and down the line, there are those who are, like towel snappings in boys' lockers, outing one another. I have a paper and someone has it in hand, is erases a signature which I value. I try and force his grip, but he ignores me. I think of and actually try and smash his face, but there is no effect. It's as if I'm making gestures behind his back.
I freeze. Hey, wait a minute! I'm stunned.
"We haven't accounted for Scoobie!"
I move off the trail, into a wired-off section of indeterminate use. The crowd mills on by. I sit. We haven't made arrangements for Scoob. I am sore distressed.
"I must stay. You go on."
Reloj is with me. He nods, understanding. Yes, there doesn't seem to be any other way. He is stoic and accepting, as always. Yes, that's the only way. Someone is with us, to make three, but I haven't identified that one. I am worried and very sad.
Yes, it's the only way.
Our trip was to other parts of Europe. This is Charles de Gaulle Airport. Reloj will have to leave me now. There is no way of knowing when I will see him again. I am very sad. How could we have forgotten to take care of Scoobie?
5/30/46 - 8/26/99