Tapati's Labyrinth

In his own words, anything unclear from handwriting is in brackets:

The Question, I have had a good deal of mental gymnastics, self entertainment, puzzlement, and judgmental debates trying to come up with an answer. Here I am, the man known as The Shadow of the Owl, and someone has asked me to stand still and have my picture taken! Have you no sense of tradition? Image? The mystical? I mean I was thinking of going back to my tribe and having my name changed to The Ghost of the Owl, or The Shadow of the Ghost Owl, in order to better capture the essence of my Mittique image, my self image as I move along the forested mountain trail as swiftly and as smoothly as the line 1/x [asympteticely?] approaches zero and as quietly as the ever lengthening shadows stretch through the forest in the late afternoon. DON’T YOU JUST LOVE IT WHEN I TALK THAT WAY? Did you ever play chess? Did we ever play chess, hell, I can’t remember stuff like that, but I do remember that chess teaches, if nothing else, that the import is not the move itself but rather how it affects or will affects what is to follow. You follow?

Have I read Bagdad? (he meant Bhagavad gita, just making a joke) Well not yet, I did read Battered Wives by Dell Martin—and you thought I was ignorant? HA! Or else it was Dean Martin in a Dell comic book, I ain’t shure. How are the kids? They don’t last long, enjoy it while you can.

---------end of transcription-------------

I wrote the following poem in response, the use of prodigal referred to his own description of himself as "The Prodigal Scribe." It was spontaneous and I've never bothered to revise it.

Between The Lines

between the lines
why does it always have to be
between the lines
always the un-said, the not-to-be-known-for-sure, the you-should-take-it-for-granted, why-can't-you-just-read-my-mind?
just read it
between the lines

I feel like I'm falling
between the lines--
the lines between our pens
running through our hearts
the lines I try to have faith in
even with no tangible proof
that they exist outside my mind
another case of wishful thinking

between the lines
my life takes place
between the lines
of fantasy and reality
what might have been
and still could be
(I'm not dead yet)

between the lines
I try to guess
I try my best
to decipher the cryptic markings
of the prodigal poet's pen
how much is the poet's meaning
and how much my wishful heart
such is the limbo
in which I'm suspended
between the lines
between your lines

BETWEEN THOSE GODDAMNED LINES!!!

Previously I had written about our relationship when I was a teen in junior high school and then later, through letters, here:

http://tapati.livejournal.com/347814.html

It's part of my memoirs, a work in progress