a beglonging without end
it was a day just like any other… which is what they all say about a day that is in fact nothing like the others, or perhaps so unlike any other day that it was exactly the same day once again.
birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and yet there was something so undeniably ineffable in the air, so beyond ordinary perception and yet somehow right under our noses all the same.
we got up, brushed our teeth, took our fish oil pill, drove to the local discount clothes shop, and bought a new used pair of size 9 women’s shoes. “stuck inside of memphis with the mobile blues again” was playing.
something strange was happening but we couldn’t quite put our finger on it. nonetheless, everything seemed a bit more blue than usual.
perhaps it was the color of people’s shirts, jeans. or certain busses passing by. the signs, the murals across the street.
we sat inside a flying star and really gave everything a good look over. even something in people’s faces looked somewhat blue.
it was all so familiar… too familiar… like something timeless, beyond memory and nostalgia and deja vu itself… and it felt oddly comforting. almost as though the blues were always smiling with some kind of eternal, mysterious, patient, all-knowing smile.
we saw an old man expressing his discontents on the state of the world today, the endless senseless killing. we looked in his eyes, even squinted them, and suddenly, everything clicked.
this man was no man at all. in fact, it could be no other than scorsby the belongingston. we looked around the room. as it turned out, everyone was unmistakably scorsby the belongingston.
the customers, the kitchen staff, the pedestrians outside, even the supposed disembodied voice of carroll king singing overhead. and soon, it became clear that every thought, every feeling, sensation, and point of view pointed back to that same maverick blue aura emanating from scorsby.
it didn’t matter what or who it was. the tarot girls on youtube, the engineers, the cops, the farmers, the fornicators, the homeless, the israelis, the palestinians, the americans, the russians, the serf’s from the 1590’s and the smurf’s from the 1950’s, the mathemeticians, the nihilists, the quantum physicists, the plagiarists, the spiritual gurus, the video-game characters, larry the cucumber, the roadrunners and coyotes, the shaman, the plant medicine, the dinosaurs, the eskimos, the birds, the aztecs, the pyramids, the space stations, the elbows and wrists, the hindus, the charlatans, the prosemites and provaxxers, the prose writers and the proletariat, the anti-establishment and the anti-dissestablishmentarianists, the pens, the paper, the peppers and salt shakers, the swingers, the porn stars, the prostitutes and virgins and rapists, the folk-singers and yolk-singers, the red trucks and the penises and vaginas and the butt plugs and the assholes, the peanut brittle, the baptists, the christians and the campfires and the crossdressers, the hillbillies and the hobgoblins, the sugar cubes and the succulents, rhymers and diners, big dreamers and schemers, the angels and the demons and the water bottles and cannabis enthusiasts and the candelabras and the tires and the light posts and the the’s and the green t-shirts and blueberries and hot dogs and freemasons and anarchists, the buddhists and satanists and saints and lovers and haters and cheese-graters and chess players and betrayers and fitness trainers and accountants and aminusants and ants and grasshoppers and researchers and science deniers and the hopeless romantics and the disillusioned winners and the gurus and the sinners, and everything in between and beyond, from here unto eternity ad-infinitum, and also none of it.
and all of it was scorsby the belongingston. we looked up into the sky, and realized that even that was just scorsby the belongingston too. our desires were scorsby. our motivations were scorsby. our wishes and hopes and prayers were scorsby. our justifications were scorsby. our sights, sounds, innermost visions were, you guessed it, scorsby. and even scorsby was scorsby. scorsby, scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsby scorsby scorsby scorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsby scorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsby scorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsby scorsby scorsby scorsby scorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsbyscorsby the belongingstonscorsbyscorsbyscorsby scorsby