I apologize to readers for my recent absence. The cause: My inspiration, an advanced reptile (who, like me, is unaccountablly telepathic) has absconded! One day in May I realized that Robert, the only remaining friend I have in this universe, had left the airwaves silent for too long. I trekked out into the Mojave toward the gila enclaves I knew, and found them gone, i.e., ALL the gila monsters were gone! Not just Robert. What a sock in the gut. When it comes to sentient beings other than oneself, you never know how much you need them until they, you know, dump you.
I guess Robert did dump me. Why else would he not have messaged my cerebrosphere, something he was never shy about?
Of course I don't really know. Maybe a cosmic mudpuppy seeking telepathic caviar on the planetary surface dive bombed the gilas and slurped them up.
Whatever, now my consciousness is as alone as the other 20 million human consciousnesses on the other side of the San Gabriels, where there were precious few gilas to begin with.
Does all great poetry come from the pain of an isolated soul? Where does bad poetry come from? The same place? Go figure.
I wrote a poem while sitting on Robert's favorite rock:
by Harry the Human
I found my father in the dead zone late last night
He had concluded that everything I thought was right
Was it you? Or was I the one who was uptight?
Mom was simply out of sight
She was not in the dead zone
She had traveled to a space her own
one we had not known
Let us pray to ancient Egypt's God of the Animal Mind
to give a reassuring sign
that in the final unity you don't find
existence sparked by eating your own kind
I did get a clue to Robert's whereabouts, in a dream. I was walking at night in downtown Santa Barbara. Results from the U.S. midterm elections were flashing from store windows. The sidewalks were crowded with college students and inland families. I found that no matter which direction I walked, I was going the wrong way, everyone was walking against me and I had to continually dodge them.
"We got tired of dodging" came a familiar voice, seemingly from a lamp post.
"Robert!" I cried,"Where are you? Why don't you have to dodge anyone?"
"Because there is only the one place, and every soul is in it and of it."
"Really?" I marvelled.
"Yes, it's boring as crap."
Sorry to leave readers hanging, but this is my progress so far. I'll get back to you soon with more findings as I investigate the plight of the increasingly elusive Mojave gila monster.