Archive for December, 2009

December 22nd, 2009


The earth moves incessantly.  A sharp gust of wind slices through the leaves of the willow trees, each one bordering the pathway of a lonely, cobble street.  The horizon slowly swallows the sun as the sky turns a deep and brilliant shade of crimson.  Soft violins and piano keys strip away all psychological burdens from my soul.  Dazzling rays of color spill from every flower.  Birds perform a symphony and I am the only spectator; alone in my whimsical mind.  The wooden houses stand still.  Luscious grass engulfs each empty world.  The melancholy existence we all share perpetually moves me.  Listening to Gymnopédie No. 1 – while each velvety note reaches deep into my chest, thrashing out every bit of idealism I hold dear – reality becomes comfortable.  Painless Liberation.  It’s what the Gods of the Universe designed for us.

December 28th, 2008

Celebrate the dead—the lives they have lived; the struggles they’ve led.  Then celebrate the living, too.

Yet, some now will somehow bundle their brow and shower their cheek over lives never lived.  Though, hinges to doors that lead to nowhere are rife with use.  And the wanderer ponders a possibility: if they had traveled a different path, the aftermath may have made them laugh in lieu of their wrath.  Instead, one must learn from the dead and living alike, for despite our perspective, our selective minds doth strike a blinding blow.  Ergo, let us live life to its fullest extent and learn from the lessons Life so generously lent.

Then celebrate the dead—the lives they have lived; the struggles they’ve led.  Then celebrate the living, too.

December 2nd, 2009

The headlines bore: “China’s last whore…”

How glorious!  We won the last war.  Romantic republican gore.  The day the last tree was sucked from the floor; when the last river’s been dammed from the shore.

Spectacular!  The last mind’s within the washer; the sky displays its final star.  Smoke stack seduction of the galactic mar.

China’s last whore.  A day to celebrate.  Fornicate!  And then, depending on when, abstain.  Refrain.  O, how exciting!  “Satisfy your cerebrum with the sweltering sensation of celebratory celibacy!”

China’s last whore: a day to eat.  ThanksTaking.  Masticating a feast.

Then we will sing!  “Do unto others as they do unto you.”  Then kill a few.

China’s last whore was a mother of men.  They will kill and kill again.  Composers of music; bringers of end.

Success!  Manage the mess. A standardized test.  Global governments are triumphant.  Vanquish the quest.

China’s last whore: a thing of folklore; two thousand years toward nevermore.  Where men dominate a homogenous fate.  Where culture is scraped from the soiled slate.

A new world order!  With seasons of treason in tales of yore.

Catholics crucify.  Muslims mutilate.  Lawmen lie.  Pacifists incarcerate.

China’s last whore means I am a bird.  A beak to be bust; never be heard.  Wings will whither while within a tomb.  We walk so gallantly towards our doom.

December 2nd, 2009

I know of a woman with wisdom in a seldom-spoken form.  I, thankful and torn, see truth obscured by fear.  With the end drawing near, reflections become clear: desperation and depression; a life of repression…

Her father neglects; though, now he is dead, his seed lives on.

Her mother abused and infused her with disquietude; a mold that rudely protrudes through time.

Her husband, a cad; deadbeat of a dad.  Now embittered as I; with a view that is skewed, for love, in her eye, was never alive.

Today she beats one redundant rhythm on the drummer’s doldrums.   Working hard with no play.  The pay brings dismay.  Endures the day to day despondence.

I look at the smile she scarcely reveals.  Will she ever be young?  Will she ever be young?  Was this woman once young?

December 28th, 2008

Life is little more than a culmination of bitter ironies.  The more one has suffered, the more one has lived.  The benevolent suffer; the malevolent suck.  Though, they carry with them the burden of blame for making life so bitterly ironic.

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