Carverian Transition of Thought

Near Mt. Vesuvius, I know Gio who will drive you to the top of the volcano, then drive you down. He speaks English, curses gypsies and has soft eyes. When you speak to him, you’ll think of what I am telling you now. You’ll say I was dead on.

Up to the top, Gio will play music. He’ll be squinting into the mirror to see cars near yours. You’ll play catch with eyes. Don’t dart away, remember: soft.

You’ll think of me on your way up. You should be attaining glory from the ride. No, you’ll be wondering about me. It’s okay. Human nature. Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Freud.

Something will happen. You’ll feel for the lost of 79. A chill will shake your head, throw your shoulders, and wake you up. It almost used cold water.

You’ll catch an eye, and for a second Gio will be a mummified corpse. He’ll still be alive, will say his soft eyes.

Then, two bubbles will form in your mind. One will be the aware and caring You. The other will be the thinking-of-me You. Love you, but not now. The background is You without me, Mt. Vesuvius or Gio. Keats and Negative Capability, Shakespeare. A smirk and cocked head. A fun ride.

Transition of thought up Mt. Vesuvius

In a town near Mt. Vesuvius, I know a man named Gio who will, for a small fee, drive you up to the top of the volcano and then drive you down. He speaks English well, curses gypsies and has soft eyes. You’ll notice them when you speak to him, and you’ll think of what I am telling you now. You’ll say that I was dead on.

On the way up to the top, Gio will probably play music you had never heard before. Bobbing your head in tune, you’ll catch eyes with him in the rear-view mirror. He’ll be squinting into the mirror to see if there are any other cars near your vehicle. You don’t have to dart away when you two lock eyes – remember, his are soft.

I know you’ll think of me for too many seconds on your way up. Instead of basking in the glory you should be attaining from riding into an active volcano, you’ll be wondering what I am doing. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s human nature. Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Freud. That’s all.

Then suddenly something will happen. You’ll feel empathy for those who lost their lives in the great eruption of 79. You’ll violently shake your head and throw your shoulders into the air after a chill grabs you and wakes you up, as if it had been trying to for hours. The chill almost had to resort to cold water.

Gio will look back at you, and for a second you’ll swear that he was a mummified corpse. Gio will still be alive; his soft eyes will prove it.

At this point in your journey to the top, two bubbles will form in your mind, floating and gently nudging each other like bumper cars. One of the bubbles will represent the You that is aware and caring that you’re riding up Mt. Vesuvius. The other bubble will represent the You that is thinking of me, and the advice I gave you about Gio and his soft eyes. I love you for thinking of me, but now’s not the time. The rest of your mind, the background of the two bubbles, is You, bare, without any influence from me, Mt. Vesuvius or Gio. You’ll think of Keats and Negative Capability and Shakespeare. You’ll smirk and cock your head to the side. It will be a fun ride.

Bread vs. Steak

An old crow
strolled toward me
like a lame dog
and asked me
how old I was when I
first had a steak.
Nine, I said.
Just as he came,
the crow strolled away
toward an old man wearing a tan golfer's hat and a yellow Member's Only jacket,
and said,
that's what's wrong with society,
before pecking at a slice of bread.