ANYONE'S GUESS (?)

I went to this place down the street called Performance Motor Sports
or some shit, and I don't think I'll ever go back there again.
Some of these people. . . Hmmph.

I walked out today.

It's hard to say what I really want to say about them, except "Hmmph."
Some things go without saying;
Some things are easier said than done; and
Somethings should never be said at all.

With that being said---

I know it's hard to see in these photos, but
that big puddle of oil might yield some small clues
in this situation about what just happened:



I got stooped.
We say that here sometimes, we get stoop-ed together, the old way,
parking our asses on that step that's just outside of this picture, sitting on the porch,
looking at the trees and the few strangers passing by, biding our time by not moving.
(How do you put one of those accent grave stresses over the e?)
Stooped. We get stupid there, too sometimes. You know.
Jokes. The subtle ones don't work on the internet.
Even the internet has its limits. . .

We live on a hill, so everything is a little bit dizzying, especially after
being a flatlander for so long. Everything is still built the same way---
all right angles--- but it looks a little like Prague, a little like the White City,
a little like the Magic Kingdom, and every once in a while, I remember, you remember:
The world is round. My eyeballs are round. I am spinning through space, floating, or
better hurtling, millions of miles per hour. At incomprehensible speeds in directions
I am unaware of most of the time.
This is not a linear situation.

Why can't I see it?
When will I see it?
When will I be big enough?
Why can't I see it now?

Why did it suddenly re-appear out of nowhere?
I just looked there and there was nothing.
Now it is here. I am crazy. Am I crazy?

Where did it go?


So it started up again, shooting out oil.

["What do they do with all of that oil that comes shooting out?" She asked.
"It goes back to Heaven" I said, "It's a dinosaur's spirit."
We were watching a spindle-top movie. "They just leave it there, soaking in.
It got wasted. Sometimes they bury it. Sometimes they try to clean it up.
Usually, they burn it---"

And then the spindle top caught on fire,
In this slow moving movie called "There Will Be Blood."
We got it from the library, so be prepared, It reads like a book,
like a book on film, or a tin-type turned movie.]


And then that dinosaur spirit caught on fire, making my spaceship move.
That puddle of oil came shooting out of the air filter.
My hair dryer on wheels scoots again.
It goes 300 miles on six dollars worth of gas.
I am jumping up and down. I need to pee.
I love it.

What if we burn nitrogen instead of burning dinosaur spirits?

Just a thought.
We could pee in them, our spaceships.

* _ *

It happened to me once before, in a 1969 Volkswagon Beetle.
Air cooled engines use oil as the air filter, and I guess,
when I turned it over on its side, some of that oil spilled out (?)
out of it's resevoir? I'm still learning the mechanics of this thing, but
the Volkswagon was pretty easy to figure out when we took it apart
in the Badlands. . . The National Park in South Dakota . . .
That's another story for another time.

This scooter is another animal, completely different.

I'm not sure what I did exactly.
I took everything apart.
I cussed and cried and kicked it a few times,
wiped off some dirt, put in a new spark plug,
straightened a brass pin in a carbeurator jet,
kicked it again, and now it works.

Three times in a row, after all that oil spewed out of the air filter.
I haven't checked it in about an hour or so,
but I'm about to check it again when I take it to the store.

Progress reports forthcoming. . .