Sunday, August 21, 2016


I used to want to disappear;
I mean simply de-materialize
and be gone. There were very
many instances, on the streets
as I lived, where I'd find things
just left behind, right on the
sidewalk, anywhere  - a pair of
shoes, a shirt and a jacket, or
anything cast-off like that. I'd
be convinced that someone,
right there, had de-materialized,
left a few things behind and
gotten lifted or absorbed into
some other realm. A place
where I too wished to be.
Was there a vibrational
threshold that a 'bum' could
reach in which the bounds
of mortal existence got
taken away? Shaking the
bounds. Mortal coil. I
was pretty crazy like that.
One night, I swear this
is true  -  and I've written
pages about this and swear
here to find them and show  -
in some shit-sodden bar on
w14th street, the far west  -
it's gone now, the place,
but the streetside window
they had there, and the
open-air, sort-off, seating
area, the ante-room where
you could just drink and stare
out at passing street traffic  -
I met a guy named
Marleybourne Fishburne
 and we talked that night
for hours, really. Over
endless, late-into-the-night
drinks, pounding most certainly
one after the other, as endless
the array of weird street people
and 14th street denizens came
and went. I list a few: Bikers,
whores, thieves, bounty hunters,
addicts, murderers, swindlers,
pimps, gigolos, punks and
punk-rockers, sleazeballs,
criminals, runaways, drunks,
shams, and just pain losers.
No one paid us a mind, except
if it would have done them
some good, which it didn't.
His name, as I stated, was
Marleybourne Fishburne,
and I'd bet it still is, and he
forthrightly claimed to be,
as he called it, a 'Negotiator
for Extra-Terrestrials.' It
even said so on his card.
(The particular place we
drank at is gone now, it's
not  Flannery's and it's
not Bunga's Den, which
are both there today,
though it was near to
them). He was a nice
enough character, he
seemed to like me and
want to go on, so I let him.
He had plenty of money, or
so it seemed, and carried
forth this little conversation,
or rather I let him. There
were a few quite noticeable
things I noticed about him:
It was mid-September,
1967, but he seemed not
to inhabit that time at all, or
any. Cloud-like, he more or
less seemed to hover, and
change over-time, slowly
breaking shape and
rearranging, yet always
also remaining the same,
to the senses anyway. I
mean, I saw him, yes,
and he was there, but he
kept going away too. This
was all very odd, inasmuch
as there was, right up the
street, an 'Institute For the
Blind' or something, so there
were all sorts of blind and
sight-impaired people moving
about  -  with walking-stick
things like blind-people have,
and glasses. (I used to wonder
why they'd have dark glasses
on always, even at night, until
someone told me it made no
difference to them, silly, and
it was more to help sighted
people anyway  - who were
sometimes made uncomfortable
by the sights of their impaired
eyes, distended sockets, etc.
Now THAT made sense). This
Marleybourne guy sort of fit
right into that. The other thing
was, like, whatever he touched,
objects not his own, they seemed
then to disappear : like the table
person would bring a glass of
water and when it was done,
it would just be gone. It never
needed to be taken away, and
another one was just brought.
Same with the beers  -  never
empty bottles, they just were
gone, and more came. Yet,
he did have a large wad of
cash and seemed to think
little of throwing it around.
Pretty bizarre, and un-nerving
too, but then I got used to it and
just thought, hey, this is fun!
His point about representing,
or 'negotiating' for, extra-
terrestrials, was seemingly
valid enough. Though I'd
never actually 'heard' of it.
He said 'they' were here, all
around us, mostly unbeknownst
to us, but that the 'authorities'
had ways of knowing who they
were and kept them under
surveillance  -  there being
absolutely nothing they
could do about them or
their visualizations and
presences. Their missions
here were all to be
inconspicuous, (what we
would now call 'passing'),
but their need was to get into
people's brains and implement
the needed changes. All sorts
of people, so things start to
happen : architects, who then
begin to build weird and odd
buildings; designers, the guys
who do cars and toasters,
houses  and such; tree-cutters
and yard people, tree-trimmers
-  all those innocuous types,
who suddenly begin mucking
everything up for others, clearing
lands, cutting great swaths,
strip-mining, blowing things
up; people and politicians, to
make and continue wars and
conflicts over things; money
people, philosophers, writers,
all those types who initiate
things and enter them into
others' consciousnesses.
These extra-terrestrials
controlled all that, for
their certain, unknown,
agenda and reasons,
whether it's a hundred
years from now or five
hundred, it will happen
and things fall in place.
As he put it, 'That's where
you all got your 'Thy will
be done stuff, you realize.'
That kind of stopped me.
Anyway, if any one of
these blew their cover,
or lost it, and trouble
began stirring, and the
authorities stepped in and
rounded them, or a few, up,
he'd have to get involved,
and 'negotiate' for them,
a way out, and a
'dissolvement' back into
their own ethereal place,
or non-place, from which
they'd come. Or originated.
 Or from which we all
THOUGHT, here, in our
terms, they'd come or
originated. It was, as I thought 
back, like the opposite of some 
movie I kept remembering seeing 
from being a kid, where there 
was this goofy little angel guy on 
Earth, but he looked just dumb 
and ordinary, and he was here to
take someone back with him,
or some such assignment, 
after which, if he did it right,
he'd get or be 'awarded' his 
wings and all during the movie, 
whenever he heard a bell he'd 
say, with a soft, happy, almost 
puppy-like smile, 'another
angel just got his wings'  -  which
is what the 'bells' signified.
Or anyway, as I thought of it, 
since they were 'already' angels 
of a sort and he'd just be taking 
them away. Or maybe he
was just making me think
this stuff, I also figured, later.
All very confusing. But,
that's where he got his
'Negotiator For
thing from. He also said
he'd been here a v-e-r-y
long time, I wouldn't
understand the number,
and, as he put it, 'all 
things' are constantly 
working towards their
appointed ends, and no
matter what 'we' did, they'd
be worked along their way.
Life is illusionary, and 
where anyway do events 
begin or end? In very
mundane ways, all things 
are subjectively valid. 
There was point, I swear,
he lit a cigarette with the 
tip his finger alone.

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