Everybody and their mother is attempting to extricate FREE content for some reason. While some misguided, albeit kind-hearted peeps, think it in their best interests to 'rule' the literary and artistic scenes with heavy thudding and bumbling of the bygone days & carnival styled crapustic infrangelary dangly-bobs, others sensing their own mortality slip sliding underneath the bathroom door to funnel along the grommets of a well-caulked life led in vain taste the vile spew of re-cycled spew and swear on a stack of dimes that they are gonna damn sure get theirs before kicking off this big blue mud-ball.
Rumors have circled high in the noon-day sky as to the who/when/where/&why of how it all has got SO outta hand. These come from the wastelands and drop dead on time to resuscitate all yr holy rolling Rosicrucians long enough to get the final breathe of truth you thought ya'd never hear sworn on a stack of bibles by a bear in its' underwear and a top hatted Boston Terrier who keeps the butler in line.
Playing the chalumeau to the sub-division traffic for all the HOA committee members to put themselves to sleep at a quiet little Polockfest on the wrong side of Amsterdam's red-lit districk, one is able to notice the promalificant as well as the down&out hebbie-jeebies come rousting out the dusky rays of OH,... Suzanna, we barely had anything for each other when we were together. Now it's even worse if you'd only think about the scaly conditions of your mother's henchmen before they tried to make out like they were gonna let her in on a really good deal. Even her best friend has commented on several occasions 'He's a big, ol' liar. That's all he's ever known. That's all he'll ever be.'
To make a long story short this is what happens every day; to every body; in every city whether they write it down or not. I thought I'd share it in case someone was able to come to terms with this before they take a long dirt nap or as we were so fond of joking in our yout 'Take a long walk on a short pier with a lighted porch into a gasoline sea.'
4 comments:
It's a question: Would you rather live on the edge of town, observing, knowing, or in the new garden yr S.O. planted in the back yard?
Ship Officer? where is the edge of town? Is there a stripmall near-by? What is it's underlying tone? How could it help me be more 'myself'? These are questions one might ask oneself if exploring for the sole intent and purpose of ending this journey by saying to the vastness of the multi-verse 'Look at me! See what I was able to do in my N rotations 'round the Sun! OR... you could sit around writing bucolic love poems. For example: here's one from W. S. Di Pero (who happens to be very popular, hence, wll paid)
In Our Room
On the strip between the lakes
I look for some trace of you
in everything that moves.
At the tip of its wake, a coot's
bone bill points through
the leaves' sponged-ink shade,
slate feathers splitting the air;
the water quivers, bright
as your bath-drenched hair
shaking off silvered bits.
A tern pulls up, tilting
through the spreading light,
then drops beak and body fast.
Two dark swifts dip past
swamp oaks like brown
twilight in our room, blinds
barring your face, while your lips
closed on some dream sound,
some word I didn't catch,
a wood-duck's straight-seamed wedge,
a cowbird shuddering from
the lake on loose bent wings.
***
quietude. I'm fairly certain something like this exists to a certain strain of poet/ess. I could have possibly written that in the 90's if my sensibilities were so inclined. Kay Ryan recently read in Charlotte at the community college. It was a fabulous reading. The thing I noticed with her work was even though she doesn't seem to be pounding the nail of hard, cruel life she still has an edge to her work which states'Hey! All the scene could give a flip about me until I finally broke away from society and found myself. THEN! and only then was I able to explore my craft to its' fullest.'
I revisited this when I finally revisited the 1am report I have neglected, or avoided like I avoid the crucial questions trying to beat my Northpoint door down. I never answer. I love your writing. I won't say I understand it all but that is what makes it so much fun to read.
In my first comment, S.O. stands for significant other. I meant to ask, "Which is the richest life one can live? Being a part of it, a participant, digging in? Or being an observer, learning by watching and understanding. Having an open mind?
I revisit this because I feel trapped inside this damn depressing studio. Locked in. Unable to "Be myself" or even understand myself.
Do we have to reach a breaking point to make any change? Open the door? Or just step outside the society and look in as a unique entity? Or am I just rambling?
I want to answer this... please,... hold on
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