Night Benz: the Retromantic


I had had a later caffeine hit than usual and, suffering a kind of near-sighted ennui, I went out for a late night Benz ride. Even on a 55 degree Fahrenheit August evening that old Bavarian limo needs a few minutes to warm before I drop it into gear. But what an idle! The whole neighbourhood jerks awake, I'm sure. Even two cylinder John Deere tractors with their petcocks wheezing and popping and fly wheels whirring are quieter on their start-ups than is this Teutonic nightmare.

But I love to drive it.

To draw no attention to that sojourn, I drive as though a cop were right on my tail and I am talking to myself the whole trip through. No radio. No taped music. Just a single whiskey baritone voice trying to make some sense out of things.

Now talking out loud, alone, is a surrogate memory process. What one hears himself saying becomes indelible thought, as though it had been recorded in longhand or on a tape recorder.

Now, at 2:59 AM, I'm at my Underwood Standard trying to remember what I had said about magnetism and gravity while I drove those fifty or so city miles, just noodling a set of wheels down the town. As far as I can remember as I sit in front of this clattering qwerty-board, these are the words I had uttered earlier tonight:

I'm heading somewhere, but I don't know where. Just cruisin' my town, waiting for a telepathic signal that says, "Here, Dean! Come here!" It's One AM and I'm waiting for the message. Then I'll go there. I'll gravitate there.

Pretty weird, you say? Driving around at One AM waiting for telepathic directions? Try a psychiatric emergency entrance, you say? But a cruise like this is not really so weird. We human beings are attracted toward certain energy sources – repelled by others. And to discover what it is we gravitate toward, we have to make a few subjective decisions about ourselves. Even as atoms and their subatomic constituents have been given descriptors like charm, gefeltig or cringe, so do we have characteristics that, when properly identified, will help us discover the nature of the mass, energy, intellect, spirit or class that draws us to its core.

This seems to imply that we are drawn to like-beings.

But the science surrounding any thinking about gravity, magnetism, or electromagnetic attraction and repulsion insists that like polarities repel, and the flash between the opposite poles of a pair of terminals on fully-charged batteries suggests that the heat, light and crackle that accompanies that connection makes a fiery if not violent contact. North attracts South. Ask any lodestone.

Yet, in this quest for what drives me tonight, I discover that the place I was heading toward out of habit wasn't really the place I wanted to be at all.

A room full of sycophants and pollyannas pretending? 'Uh 'uh!

Somewhere on Groat Road before I decide what to do at the Bridge intersection (one way's downtown, the other's up) it occurs to me that we gravitate toward the perfect attractor, the one that's just right for our perceived personality, whether it's harmonic or dissonant or downright deadly. We may have been temporarily deflected by some other energy source -- one whose core energy we're aiming for right now, and we seem comfortable with decision to be in that space of choice. But, where in the world would we rather be?

Let's be honest. We all know where our habituation takes us. And we also have an inkling of where we'd rather be if we give our intuition the benefit of a doubt.

There's the challenge -- finding that core of densities, energies, talents, intellects, lightnesses, spiritualities, barely imaginable aspects, senses of humour, nearly un-nameable environments -- but let's try to visualize the physical space. Got it? Now, populate it.

Imagine people there. Remember, this population is a creation of that same imagination you used a few minutes ago when you determined the salient features of your own character.

Is the pull caused by like forces ironically attracting? Or unlike forces challenging? What deviates us from our quest? If nothing, then we have arrived! The search is over! We've been drawn and there we are, held nearly metaphysically to the energy core we find ourselves adhering to. And if anything deflected our path, it's time we willed ourselves toward that other sphere of influence -- that larger, deeper attraction.

Gravitate!

We must gravitate!


Web Design by Douglas Elves. Water reflection photograph by Linda Jennings.
Dean Morrison McKenzie
Biography icon

McKenzie's a kid from the village; it shows in his themes. His poetry, fiction, music, films and essays are laden with imagery gathered from the world that surrounds small prairie towns. So far he has co-authored two or three chapbooks, read his stuff on public radio and has had his voice used to record commercials and training films. McKenzie's first CD, "Prairie Hejira" was published in 2001 and on November 23rd, 2003, at The Yardbird Suite, he and the band released "The Silver Apples of the Moon". He also wrote the script for "Skipping Stone" -- the AMPIA-award winning film produced by Frame 30, and recently Michael Hamm screened McKenzie's "Night Benz", another short film based on the prose/poem included in this chap book. It was awarded a Silver Medal at the Houston International Festival of Independent Films in the category Jazz/New Age/Spoken Word.

When asked about life as a retired English teacher, he refers to it as a bus man's Holiday. "I've been editing the work of others all my life; now I'm smoothing out my own roughnesses."

Watch for his next chapbook, "The McKenzie Chronicles" and "The Jazz Poet" CD is just around the corner along with a loosely connected series of short stories about the "Urbaniginals". McKenzie is also working with MaxMedia to produce some poetry/art/music videos with the collaboration of Alberta post-modern impressionist Wayne Schneider. Wayne's paintings create moody graphics that reflect some of the darker aspects of McKenzie's themes; the corollary: McKenzie's poems reflect Wayne's angst. Andrew Glover's synthesized keyboards will accompany "His Recurring Night Terrors" in the performance poems.

The submissions in this electronic chapbook include pieces that you may have read, heard or seen elsewhere, but they were nearly all published on this web site or in the Stroll Archives before they made their way into recordings, public performances, hard copies or film scripts.


POEMS
Lysergia: The Day of the Ergot
INDIAN SUMMER HAS GONE
The Wild Cattery
A Dance Danced
John O'Winter
Equinox -- Long Beach
Modestly! Modestly!
Honouring Christian Bok
Shades of Another Time
Another Pedestrian Poem
Etching the Blank
Her Sausage Hangs for the Nonce
Van Diemen's Seedlings
The Urbaniginal at the UAH B&B
The Wash
The Burn at Dawn
Commuter Lust
"Silver Apples of the Moon"
Night Benz: the Retromantic
His Recurring Night Terrors
The Cat's Ass
Ecumenical Earthday
Winter 2004
The Ends of Things
Chinook
The Grand Children and the Animals
Echo and Narcissus
Skin Knot -What Phrygian King?
tango
May Day
This Site is a Carousel of Clouds
Waxwing
Jake Lemoine
Our Lady Of The Snows
The Moon's Last Quarter
Eugenic Dreamscape
Below the Fall
La Douce Dame Jolie
Waterscape
The Archaeologist in the Valley of the Kings
Herr Schroer's Harvest
Harbinger of Desiccation
The Great Debate
Up the Burke Road
Urn
So Wolf Willow Grows