retired

So now I'm really thinking communal centric with visions of scrap and techo-fusion, chaotic heaps of twisted rejection, worn out and rusted nonretardants, unupholstered skeletons draped and anchored into a new viable validity: replenished, reconstituted furnishings beyond the cult of personality and brand and expressive beyond the limitations of mass marketability, not manufracturable, not convair-ed assemblages, all beyond the reach of just form and function... insertion... melded fabrications enhancing the fluidity of ebb and flow when the body no longer can muster that exertion. Interconnecting appendages breathing and pumping life in one giant symphonic pulsating reverberation while encoded light streams beaming informative repercussions, simultaneously downloadable uploadable, calculating the infinite, honing the finite into dharmaniacal perfection, and all in the name of something else.

I'm thinking creaky old ageless ex-hipsters with sags and bumps and hair and warts grinding to a halt on the rails of somebody elses tracks while feeling no pain beyond the weight their tired bones already carry. I see them stacked interpersonal, layered in their individual nooks and crannies, old and bent geezers and dried up grannies walking the talk of grace and eloquence and not giving too much thought if anyone else is listening. I hear murmurs in the candle lit night around hearth with tunings and the clearing of hoarse throats and less nimble fingers about to pluck and noodle upon stings and these folk singing about a life well lived without tubes and breathing apparati.

I smell the yeasts of life brewing and baking and fermenting nourishment beyond a minimum daily allowance, a scented nullification of fixed income, an aromatic redefinition of the working, living, and breathing poor manifested into the wealthiest of abundant beings---wealthier than they ever were, wealthier than they ever will be. What a sweet smell it is.