Raymond Soulard, Jr. New Songs (for Kassandra) - The ...

52
“Yah, heard about that. Condolences.” He seeks Mr. Bob’s attention & taps his
empty pitcher. The barman bustles.
“It’s gonna be a long weird story.”
“Already is.”
“Longer, then. Weirder.”
“Occasionally a song? A drink?”
I nod.
“Now? You want a Guinny?”
“No, Grey. I don’t drink alcohol anymore.”
“Do I?” he asks, frowning.
“Sure.”
“Am I going to stop? Take up crafting tie-dye pouches & puffing opium?”
“No, you ass.”
Still frowning he stiffly regards me. “So you’re an ex-drinker writing about a bar?”
“Yah, I guess.”
He nods.
“What?”
“Til you work out the trouble knotted in that situation, nothing here’s going fast
anywhere anymore.”
He nods, not looking at me, leaves his pitcher unfinished, leaves.
“He’s right, Reb.”
“He was mad, Ray.”
“Mad & right, though. There is a conflict. A knot.”
“My dad still drinks. & I never did. & Mr. Knickerbocker does.”
“The change is me & Cecile is man enough to say it to me.”
Dark blue eyes buzzing now with thought. “So what does it mean, now that, um, you
don’t drink anymore?”
“Well, I’m on the outside looking in.”
“Of Luna T’s?”
“Of more than that. In my own world too. Alcohol & coffee are the two titans of
adult socializing.”
She nods.
“Alcohol more so because its houses contain entertainment & sex.”
Nods again.
“So I don’t know, Reb. But he’s right about that knot. Maybe the knot is even the
second threshold.”
Moving toward immolation, dream leads mind leads body. What matters most is
fear-mingled hope. What matters most is to crush it, cut it, know it to be dust, call it illusion,
the knot
the knot
a moan & a sigh sum a life end to end, a life, a knot, know it, crush it, cut it, nothing
follows nothing, the moan does not beget the sigh, release this thought, the universe is
tickless, climb deep enough to observe the flow & the swirl, then climb deeper & observe
the—
Rebecca smiles at me & shows me her picture called “Why”
Somewhere Americus strums one just for me, for this moment—
The Cenacle | 59 | October 2006