Really Off The Grid

Featured art by Monika Nowak. Click title image to visit her studio.

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Ron Goodwin “Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines”

We got a lot to get done today so let’s get started with it…

Can you keep a secret?
Sure hope not
You see, while loose lips have been known to sink the odd ship or two
Every leg of my voyage of rediscovery is categorically true
And truth is, I’m a magical creature
Back in the swinging fifties, they would no doubt have given me my very own headline feature

For what it is worth, I am not repeat not of this here earth
Not even of this universe
While aware they’re simply words, be simply thrilled if you concur
Don’t need to play at sleuth to spot the truth in every verse

For better, never worse
For each blessing undresses a curse
Forgetful of invalid reasons not to surge toward this otherworldly urge
There was no virgin birth
Though I really should mention that my conception was immaculate as fuck
Now, dedicated statisticians would more than likely raise petition to my lack of practical logic
Draw a line across the sand dunes and define as blind man’s luck

Not an abacus within grabbing distance with the beads one needs to sum up infinity
Not a 10-ft tall blue avatar in mid-dialysis with this degree of free-spirited mobility
Too much microanalysis at this stage could prove calamitous
And there is less than zero glamorous without a dash or two of gravitas
On surveying my new habitat, I grabbed the cat and stabbed any dirty rats in their slack backs in a fashion fast-tracking magnanimous

Fabulously absolute, knew just what I had to do to renew myself
No need for a battering ram, I was gonna get me a family plan
No monthly installment with ballooning inflation
Just one universal viewfinder of more telescopic persuasion
Okay, so my term may have been of ectopic gestation
But this configuration was of kaleidoscopic variation

Calibration proved no misfit as I transmit to Kismet on identical wavelength
Two short straws of the very same length
Only way more inclined to the long than the short of it
As I would go to great lengths to tune all ten plus active senses to a frequency proportionate to the enormous hit of zen which supported this
Never before had I courted such imperial madness
But then, never before had I possessed the necessary tool set to observe and report this
Or a slither of the non-material intactness

With small talk immaterial, you’d expect an awkward silence
But words were not deprived with the cosmos there to guide us
Dionysus could keep his ill-fated touch of midas
Far too sidelined was I with infinite time and space to preside over
Trifling not over plum roles and soft goals
Staffing concerns or high turnover
Not for these excited donors as the onus is on ten universal wishes to tide us over
And guess what… the tide is in

Can you keep a secret?
That is awfully good of you but I’d prefer you pass the voltage on
The keeper brand is now bolted on just grand
And the single tongue within this double-header is of androgynous arrangement

Bending pretense from gender
Making no sense of pretenders
As I upend spent agendas
Then return them to sender
On commencement of engagement

With public spending on the rise, I save my currency for prized eyes and the stunning souls that match them
Those so kind as to gather any marbles should they scatter in absent fashion
Those who have seen me through the metamorphosis phase
Whispered in the chrysalis while I played the changing game

Now I got the flight gear sorted, I’m light years from the trite fears that once thwarted
Migration is no longer a migraine in waiting
You see, birds of corresponding feather
Well, they do well to flock together
Irrespective of any spikes in the weather

We are really off the grid here
Now just you wipe away those squid tears
As it’s a quaint place to visit but even better when you live here
And I tend to transcend air for universal aviation
There are drop down masks at the appropriate stations to replenish any oxygen deprived us
So what do you say you go grab yourselves a transcendental say
Come fly with me
Before space and time get away

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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