A long line of strangers paraded before the Cowboy. Short ones, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones, young ones. Each seemed desperate to present themselves as the individual the Cowboy knew they must be. Yet somehow he only saw them as a collective of strange animals, a slowly flowing procession of the human zoo.
The first to catch his eye was the snot nose lady. She of the dangling nose ring. The Transcendental Cowboy offered his handkerchief, then retracted it when he realized the globule he thought was a slimy snot ball about to slip off onto the lady’s coat was in fact just her choice of decoration. “I’m guessing you miss the third grade.” he said as he slinked off.
Then there was the middle aged white guy with his Asian family, dressed in the floor length coat. A coat that a twenty something Asian would have pulled off with style and grace. But the Cowboy thought, “This must be a gift from the family who doesn’t accept the fact that white dad is never going to be Asian, no matter how much he desires it.”
Later there was the pair of three hundred pound health care professionals, moving in unison behind their counter. The Transcendental Cowboy was transported to the Oklahoma City Zoo and the graceful ballet of the hippopotami. He snapped back in a brief moment and tried to give them the benefit of glandular disorder and an ignorance of modern medicine. “No reason a doctor would teach his staff medical knowhow. Better to keep them ignorant and sedentary and in their place.” he mused.
Soon the Transcendental Cowboy arrived to put himself in check, “Being a bit of a little bitch, today. Aren’t we?”
Never one to roll over for himself the Cowboy responded to his own suggestion, “Just the facts, Ma’am.” And he continued in a rant, “Why is it that I found in the traditional dress of the Tajik women such complete and obvious individuality? I mean, you could see it in their eyes. Yet when I see all the desperately contrived costumery of my own kind, it appears as some kind of cry for attention?”
“Well,” he responded in time, “you aren’t Tajik. Maybe if you were you would have thought that the girl with the dark scarf was desperately trying to distinguish herself from her sisters, all in their bright colors.”
The Transcendental Cowboy had to think about it for a while. Then finally he decided. “I’m certainly glad to have reached the age where I’m through being cool and can settle into my own little herd where I belong…
Curmudgeonly old white guys with no remaining sense of style.”
TC
Posted in: Universal Mind
Did I tell you I had a dream about a dead man? I think it was just because of your mention. But in the sleep lab, it came to me as a shock to see him standing there as if alive.
Looking for something he said he lost. In his old Benz that, like him apparently, won’t die. I told him we had it.
But then he disappears again into the black inkwell recess of my heart, where all the dead people live.
AK
Posted in: Universal Mind
The Transcendental Cowboy has clean shorts and socks (he thinks of Ian Dury’s New Boots and Panties). He’s poured some water on his hair. He’s wiped his hands and face with some hand sanitizer. The Cowboy mutters, “I’m good to go!”
With the others off hiking or boating, the Cowboy has opted to “guard the fort” as it gives him time to do what he does best… be alone.
Not the the Transcendental Cowboy is really anti-social… he enjoys company. It’s just, the larger the group the more he slips into the “observer mode”. Still himself in an intimate group of four or so, he slips into more of a performance mode with 10 or 20 strangers and relatives. “And some of the people around here are relatively strange.” He mutters.
Not wanting to be judgmental, the Transcendental Cowboy quickly notes, “We’re all relatively strange, in one way or another.”
TC
Posted in: Universal Mind
Photographs
of dead people
and dead dogs
and a sudden burst of anxiety.
Even the ones of me show me nothing but ghosts.
Who were those people
and where did they go?
Fear, pain, and hard work
will ultimately kill them all.
Can’t cut a digital photo into a million pieces.
You can only delete them.
And where’s the visceral satisfaction in that?
What would be the pleasure in simply pressing the delete button?
I’m never haunted by the dead,
it’s just the living dead (They’re only dead in my head).
Their ghost are my burden.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it,
being me,
if it kills so many people.
But it was them or me.
AK
Posted in: Universal Mind
The Transcendental Cowboy overheard a conversation that was rapidly becoming an argument.
“True Love is the answer.”
“NO! SELF Love is the true answer.”
“Well, I think it is the fact that you love another that makes you human.”
But the Cowboy couldn’t keep himself out of this one, so he rudely interjected, ” Please! The two, while different, are both the answer. And further they are inextricably related. You can’t be happy if you don’t love your self. But you can’t love your self if you have never loved another. Only once you fall for someone and realize that you can totally love a miserable, weak, and flawed person will you let yourself love yourself. Because, and believe me on this one… you ARE a miserable, weak, and TOTALLY flawed person!”
And with that the Cowboy walked away, leaving the conversation to those who began it. As he left, he muttered to himself, “Well, that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”
TC
Posted in: Universal Mind
I never question a stack of paper that arrives anonymously on my desk when I’m gone. It probably had good reason to stop in my cube. Like Russian Roulette, it’s just the chamber that had one in it and it was my head that happened to be in front of the barrel.
I just do my part and slice and dice that pile. Once I have handled all the sheets, I can then pass it along down the line to you and you’ll ask, “Hey! Where did this come from?”
But do you really want to know?
KK
Posted in: Universal Mind
