Japandemonium
I crawl into a vacant cubbyhole in my brain (I have plenty of storage space there) and sit cross-legged on the part of my jellied noggin that can visualize; I am by the sea. On a Friday afternoon, there is a rumble, a tumble, an angry grumble somewhere, off in the distance, beyond my sight, some devil , cresting some sea ulcer erupting… and I shimmy and shake. I want to run away from the sea, away from the rising wave tower, soaring like some grotesque Godzilla, some wide-winged Mothra, some namby-pamby Bambi meeting Tsunami Gorgonzola Godzilla, the drilla killa, a high speed freight train doom-zooming in from the spoiled and twitchy sea; this irradiated gorilla-whale, this hulking nuclear devil this tsunami-commie who has no purpose other than to lumber in, in all its atomic beauty, to come juggernauting over the people who live by the sea and have expected nothing less since Hiroshima Nagasaki Mon Amour… I know it is coming. Even in my mental exercising, my legs rubberize, I stall, my bones and my being freeze up. I see myself, footsteps in front of me, feet falling ahead of me, helmet cam capturing the way I will run, fearing to look back, knowing Godzilla fella will scoop me up and rip me apart and drown me, and toxify me, and break me into a million human twig parts and eat me and kill me. My Ja-panic escalates as I sit cross-legged in the crawl-space part of my jellied noggin that visualizes; cross-legged and marvelling at the courage or the inertia, that would keep millions living by the sea knowing Godzilla is always impatient, always ready to roll; to roll in and crush. And I think, as we all likely think, there, but for the Ace of Spades, or better grades, or a different air raid, or a jug of grog, or a bump on a log, or the face of a dog, or the Grace of any old God, go I