Lunchbox Prelude

We are all each of us drawn to a state, a state of mind along the warbling inconsistent warp of time that is our coexistence, white existential eggs waiting to be cracked open, or hard-boiled and then peeled back to the meaty yellow of your caveman mind, finding your element and at the same time feeling out of your element watching Jake kill the spider drunk outside his house with a garden hose and I've been waiting naked in the woods for you all night but you're forever on the beach so you said let's go to Oregon, where the forest runs right to the ocean. I'm feeling the motion of our collective brain waves arcing and pirouetting across the wood paneled sky and Lazy Lion Ryan just keeps right on lyin' on the couch in the corner, laughing inside at all us searching for the spot that does not exist. There is no spot, there is no bowl, and that's Zen Buddhism for silly little kids who aren't really about following what someone else came up with first but rather trying to find their own way through the crawling vines like ink expanding across your shirt, blue water colors that you flung up and around yourself, dancing in time to the twinkling of the stars hidden by beautiful polluted gradiated skies blue to purple to yellow and back again and the best people always are.