I need answers to the why. Confusion can and does confound me, but I like to know things: why is there fire in the mountains, lightening in the air? When God gave out rhythm why did he also give out Popsicle toes—mostly grape and orange. And why is politics political? Did I choose the existence in which I ponder this? Did my mother really have sex? Gross…!
Meditation without mediation sometimes brings enlightenment, so does ESPN Deportes, broadcast in algebra: they are both lacking in the hurry up department, so, I speed dialed my friend Nietzsche, hoping he didn’t have me on speed denial. He didn’t; he answered after the third ring. “Yes?”
“Freddy, I’m sensing disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless and absurd world.”
“Does existence precede essence? Does the actual life of the individual constitutes what could be called his or her essence instead of there being a predetermined essence that defines what it is to be a human?”
“Shit… I should’ve let this go to voicemail, but since you ask, I don't believe in magic. I don't believe in I-ching. I don't believe in Bible. I don't believe in Tarot. I don't believe in Gita. I don't believe in yoga. I don't believe in kings. I don't believe in Elvis. I don't believe in Zimmerman. I don't believe in Beatles. I just believe in me. And that's reality.”
“Dude that’s harsh….” Before I could finish my thought, the blue light to my eBay iPhone alerted me to an incoming call. “Hold on… yes?”
“Elton?” a suffering fellow asked.
“Give me a Leonard Cohen afterworld, so I can sigh eternally.”
“You're so self-involved. You're in some kind of fog. You're hung up on your hog. You didn't even make me, come on!” a righteous sounding lady chimed in.
“Precisely,” three voices answered back.
I hung up my eBay iPhone realizing it was really a Motorola Razr2 sans battery. Maybe I should’ve meditated or astral projected my sorry ass to the universal library of answers on Neptune; instead, I ordered a pizza with extra mushrooms, knowing I always nap after digesting pizza with extra mushrooms. And in my yesterday’s dream dreamt this coming Tuesday, I remembered the wisdom of Karl Jung’s sister Aphrodite's favorite singer John Fogerty, “Did you hear ‘em talking ‘bout it on the radio? Did you try to read the writing on the wall? Did that voice inside you say I've heard it all before? It's like Déjà vu all over again.”
Let's get back to reality....