3642. LIGHT IN EARLY MORNING : PALE GOLD

LIGHT IN EARLY MORNING : 

PALE GOLD, Part One

"When I get out at the jack-pines, yes, I am

already then dead-tired. Not dead, mind you,

just dead-tired, as I said. The hills around me,

all that nature crap I see  -  configurations of

shadows and atoms and molecules done up

in their temporary dress  -  illusionary to be

sure, and who the fuck cares? I want for

nothing, because there is nothing.

-

Not for any high-flying, high-horse-ass

reasons of philosophy or near belief,

but because (fucking a-all) there just

is - Nothing. Not worth looking at,

not even worth caring. All that 'candles

in the wind, don't let your light go out'

crap is but real-estate-sentimental-acres

bullshit, the kind the dime-store used to

sell, and gone to hell for naught.

-

Generalities of matter, and  -  oh Hell!  -  

for the time being alone and there's no

time being. 'Junkpiles of soil and rock,'

Pavarese said, 'the world is a construct

of meaningless variables.' And all these

particularities, he would see them too,

just as I am, the hikers, the man and the

woman with their stupid backpacks and

dumb hiker's asses, boots and cut-offs,

walking sticks and the rest, he too would

see them and get bored to death saying

'Intellectual failures, chic hangouts for

bastardized Nature freaks and the 

assorted bottled-water admirers who

always drift up.' And then anyway

they drive home and get there and

continue to ruin their fucked-up

transient world like a permanent

bad situation. I don't care; my

thirst for the absolute overcomes

their thirst for shit."