“You can’t find non-being.” / Parmenides

The mind is an elevator. I took it down, past the mezzanine, all the way, then a little more, to a room or what amounts to one.

I saw the moon, in pearls, sitting alone, admiring herself in a spoon. Our minds entangled. She beckoned with her eyes. One could but oblige.

Her cards curled like the petals of a rose.

the bank is broke
the gods have spoke

were the last words I played. Next morning the sun was out to get me.


Skipping ahead, I was dead, I suppose, but I was still here, or what amounts to here. The point is, I couldn’t tell any difference in the being department. You can’t find non-being, no matter where it is.

That was my last caper. I retired to write the memoirs you have now read. Of course most of the words are gone. Soon there won't be any.


Published by Randy B Tudor