Notes from the Unworldy Underground, or, Connections on a Dead-End Street
by Sub-commandante X

I wonder about my neighborhood when a young girl, about high school age, is strolling down the side-walk. When I smile, she asks, "Hey, you wanna date?" "Uh, no, but thanks." I reply.

Now it could be fun. But, on quiet reflection, that's after the pupils undialate, and the blood slows down, & only then, do I realize that to choose peace, over turmoil, is the only way to go. Everything else is taken care of eventually. & always at the appropriate time, place and with the right person.

Is this heaven or hell? How can you tell? & what can you possibly expect from a culture that invented not only the telephone, but 'phone sex', as well. And what the hell is 'phone sex' anyway?

Besides being expensive? Do you rub against the handset? Do you ejaculate into the earhole, or the mouthpiece? I guess that depends. But is this, really, the way AT&T makes new phones?

Words are only words. And really, they don't matter. It's what's behind the feelings that you're aching to exchange. There must be a more direct way to transmit emotions & experience.

Sheryl Crow sings,

"If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad.
If it makes you happy, then why are you so sad?"

It's hard questions like that, you gotta face when your back's up against the wall.

It's true, I drop, and then I shop. I ain't gonna deny it. I shop for truth, love, and beauty. It don't hurt you. And, it don't hurt me.

I'm talking of all womankind here, don't have to say men at all, 'cause there wouldn't be nobody without women. (We're both, y'know. Don'tcha?)

There are those who don't wanna be loved at all. They just wanna be admired unconditionally. Yeah, there's craziness all around. Making connections on a dead-end street is easy to do.

Acquaintances, otherwise known as strangers, tripping in the moondust. Was that passion in her eyes, or just infatuation for a kindly father-figure? What's the difference? Hard to tell sometimes.

She might be funny looking , but she's not exactly shy. Just twice removed from the pettiness others swim in. & she's dangling her toes over the edge.

If she really likes you, she'll invite you up for tea. All the while, staying politely aloof. Now, it may have had something to do with the festivities going down around us.

But, that night... her mouth touched mine for the very first time. Ever so lightly, & ever so slightly, but the message was received. Funny, ain't it, how little to get the blue bus moving again?

Please don't confuse me with someone fraternizing with his higher self. No way, I'm just keeping an eye on the holes in the sky.

You know you're down to it. When 'almost nothing' is an exaggeration. & you can light the incense, and the last bowl with the same match, & still not burn your fingers.

You know you've been away too long, when you can't even remember the last time. Ran into the friend of someone I used to know the other night. She recognized me, and told me how we met. Then, it all came back...

But, she couldn't recall sitting on my lap, while our mutual friend drove. Well, that's her story and she's sticking to it. What with her new friend standing there, I didn't push it. But I do remember holding her... oh well, never mind. We all have selective memories, I guess.

She gave me her card. If I ever need my body shampooed & waxed, now I know who to call. What can I say? Stranger things have happened.

For example, the gonzo erotica of the menstrually repressed. It's the massage therapist who invites you to her bed as a goodwill gesture. And the only thing that happens is sleep.

Then, later, she expects you, thru psychic intensity, to rearrange the truth, and to remove any guilty consequences. Yeah, sure, I'll see what I can do about it.

I cut my psychedelic teeth, as it were, on the Sunshine of the Orange. One muddy weekend in Bethel, N.Y. it seems like a moment ago to me, now. The rest, as they say, is folded in space-time.

I've studied at the feet of gurus from here to there, and around the corner. I've learned to be comfortable in chaos. Yeah, but I never counted on you. Do you really see where we're going?

You say you can, and I believe you do. But, I've had relationships metaphysical before. Well, I guess there is a last time, for everything too. I may need a bit of balance here. While it's not fear exactly, but, it's definitely hesitation. You must know, dear one, you are the real McCoy.

She says, "Take risks", and "Learn from delights". Spirit doesn't possess spirit.

Shanti,Om.

Let go. All is well. (So knock the incense ashes off the copy paper, & get started...)

Sub-X is a survivor of the radical '60s. These days he's attempting to get beyond the 'Them' and 'Us' duality of Conflict Consciousness. Trying to eliminate conflict from one's reality is a lot like dealing with alcohol. It's an on-going process. Currently, Sub-X seeks solutions and asks, "Why not more beauty, love, and joy?" We know we can do so much better. OK, so why not?