Endings from which none may, politely, escape

Hangmans Noose

Hangmans Noose (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

when the way gets twisted
and scrunched into
a narrower and
narrower and
narrower
path so
tight
you
simply
gotta tear
your way out
not even thinking
of who might be on
the driveway when you-

...in two secs, the jury will be arriving unanimously
at the verdict that your sick, sorry ass is so guilty
you will hang high - so help me - for even tryin'
to end it all - kickin', screamin', beggin', cryin
'
"Yeeeee-hah!"

Deeply

I never planned to cancel out the evil committed in the past,
nor worried much about long-dead sailors on shore-leave for the night,
from the seas of eternal misery.
Of loyal friends and lovers I might have run from,
leaving them to die abandoned, bitterly poisoned and withered-up inside -
some sad-faced old-child kinda vaguely from back in Year 4, or earlier even –
kindergarten ruined, childhood crippled, youth destroyed, followed wretchedly by an adulthood you can only call worse,
come back to settle a little score with the saboteur of his entire life: Why me?
Everyone was in on it, if you trace the cause back to its root of roots.
I just wanna be some guy's midlife crisis

I just wanna be some guy’s midlife crisis (Photo credit: id-iom)

 
Afraid I have no plan to prepare the folks from coming home one night, to scrape-up all that gore.
 Having no choice, no means to execute a shred of malice, nor power to shoot out dark, lethal thoughts, n r- conversely – send out rays of hope and redemption through cleverly performed remorse. In other words:
Not a shred of self-defense at all.
 
I’m ready now, finally, to erupt into my universal state of letting go.
Everything melts away when your meditation attains this magnitude of urgency
and, goodness gracious, can’t – absolutely just can’t- no matter what – hold it back no more.
 
Just a note in the suggestion box:
They might look at upgrading the public restrooms in the Afterlife.
Nuthin’ fancy.
Make ‘em, maybe, a little wider this time around?
Maybe add, like, a few more hundred thousand stalls?
 

Empathy with a non-bankable, “C-list” affliction, no budget nor promotion, hence misunderstood.

I

Got me a real doozy. A classic, set-piece fairy tale:

 “Drunk White Rabbit Crashes Black Grizzly Meth-Party Deep in Woods, cussing “N” word.”

 I was only blinking – hey! couple hours, maybe. No more – but I woke up, dudn’t I?

A split second from coiling up for the aggro spring-pounce back into the ring, snorting, shadow-punching…

in but a split second, but one cotton pickin’– Never mind…

…to a future that never happened  quick enough to crowd outwhat had come to crowd it out.

 

So… kinda’ casually aware of an eternal now.

Tuned, to the rising-falling breath of life and death, plus assorted intermediate heavings of the mother earth.

Sensitized – nay, heightened – passively observing the sunlight as she shifted,

slightly lifting her weight off my thighs.

Stole my blanket – you get my drift? – in a yawny, stretchy mood.

 And in one maxed-out, richly layered, poignant line-drive, photo-finished, round 15, 3-2 split-decision judgement call, I…
 Aah shit, I would’da done the same if I came back a million reincarnations more. 
So what I didn’t want the day to go just yet izat wrong? …And that wuz when it pounced.
Ilustration by Féliciena de Myrbacha (1853 - ?...
Ilustration by Féliciena de Myrbacha (1853 – ?) to Jules Verne fairy-tale (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
 Contrary to public opinion, the prey seldom feels the fear because there’s not enough time to feel, since they get taken down before they know- wha-? f-?
 
Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
 
 
II

Originally spelt “High? Cool.”

hey, djew know? the soul,
like a gecko’s tail, regrows
yet, the body? hell no
 
Turning darker now, and still I couldn’t move,
lifeless on a  bean bag, face-to-face with the tv, one hand still on the remote.
I thought I must look ridiculous to my patron diety, Lord Kumbhakarna,
and prayed for him to come to my rescue, just this once.
 
He is big, real big – eats Humvees for a snack.
He can protect me, nurture and train me to do good.
Though it’s a marvel how he manages to fit everything in – everything! – on a mere six months of hibernation, and six short months of food.
 
Kazap! …And it was done.
“Doc, I think we got something! A pulse. A palpitable pulse!”
Thank you, Lord, for saving my soul and butt.
You’re quick, I’ll say, for a big fat dude.
Zat mean I gotta do work on that there body now…?
Moving along….
 
 
III
 
Tomorrow.
Dream it then, and draw strength on credit from tomorrow…
when the sun must come back bravely on the dot,
and in every direction these darknessess disperse – yeah? – and skitter-scatter off.
 Courage required only for tonight, Capt’n.
Because I’m still pinned, immobile, to a tactically defenseless, suicide-friendly,
designed-for-sacrificial-altar spot…
 Watch my ass, bro. Don’t let up.
The black and white re-runs are circling like a pack of wolves.
Couch potato. Bed kumbhakarna.

Couch potato. Bed kumbhakarna. (Photo credit: Shalapolia)

The moon, my shadow and the monsters under the bed…

WLA vanda The Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove

WLA vanda The Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

…was that poet guy, wasn’t he, who leapt off a boat into the water one night grabbing at the reflection of the moon?

Sappy end to a legend, I thought. Don’t you think?

After all, he was real, supposedly, and talented. Made government official and climbed high too. Ministry of Health or something. The same one who whipped up the eternal line:

“Drew a blade and slashed the water; even more the water flowed.”

Meaning to say he maybe wasn’t such a hot-shot civil servant after all;

or maybe the politics was rather so fluid in those days it just kept coming and coming and coming, and wouldn’t stop.

Others have been designated Poet laureate, and might have received a stipend. But he was so close to deification, they named him ‘immortal’, just like the lines he wrote. And everyone knows immortals don’t eat mortal food or, crucially, drink mortal booze. His hatred of politics was as clear-cut as a blade across a throat.

On one hand, his fame was mainly for the street-cred that pulled him lengths ahead, letting no competition come close: the knack of a delicate, wafting scent, transforming into a raptured expression, at the lilting aroma, discernible on the opening of the day’s first jar of booze.

On the other, he was posthumousy conferred distinguished alumni of the exclusive Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grovet. Pure, unadulterated and distanced from the ugliness of political intrigue and betrayal – playing wine, drinking chess, chillin’ out in the cold, clean heights of Coventry;

Conversely, he was the old mastermind behind the older tapestry, victor of shadowy battles which others fought.

Despite getting it in the ass just like everybody else, he wrote and wrote, unfazed even by some sappy output, such as: “…the tear from the eye of the girl whose heart didn’t know who it hated most.”

No matter how much bulldust you try and drench yourself under, something in your soul just knows.

So.

A CLEAR-CUT AND BURNED-OVER HILLSIDE ONE MILE ...

A CLEAR-CUT AND BURNED-OVER HILLSIDE ONE MILE FROM THE ENTRANCE TO THE HOH RAIN FOREST. ALTHOUGH AESTHETICALLY… – NARA – 545264 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Much, much too late. It’s so, so over.

I really truly completely hate you now.

I never doubted it before, but let the world erode my anger

whenever the negativity and cynicism arose.

I let the soft-pedal, feelgood, sweet-talk, inspirational whatever do its thing,

and Gaia me into the few stock corrals sorting out that confusion of human emotional truth into a few neat bundles of clear-cut options guaranteed never to be seen as wrong:

generousity, tolerance, forbearance, environment, minority rights, animal freedom, non-violence, sustainability, niceness to children, universal love, sisterhood of woman, brotherhood of man… one big orgy together in a van.

Well, my people have got each and every one of these, and we’re holding them hostage until you are ready to negotiate. And we will consider this message received and read and clearly understood.

So, no point activating the Call Number Blocker on your phone.

ass off, sugar

What I've Read - 2008

What I’ve Read – 2008 (Photo credit: Brandon Heyer)

Well it’s not like we’re separated or anything,

and our feelings haven’t, y’know, gone astray, and all.

Plus it really hasn’t been terribly long; not if you go by some people who only

run into each other on the landing, like, maybe, once a month or two-

husband and wife, parents and children, sibling and sibling,

and whatever combination lives together these days, sort of.

Heck didn’t I just Twitxter you a day ago,

and you Basefooked me two before?

You pop up on my Coocle Girgle all the time, and– what else do we do?

Yeah I sent you that Mutter Invite, remember?

and your committee accepted my avatar on your Monsta Ultimate Assault Team too.

And thanks for your ‘Like’ on my Corporated Affirmation  — now I need just two more to get in.

Oo, guess what? The new tracker I put on your blog? It says you’re definitely trending!

If anything, now, more than ever before, I feel we’re kinda closer.

Sorta like we’re dancing in step, and whirling through the dance floor,

doin’ our own thing, oblivious to everyone else chatting in the room,

just you lookin’ at me; me at you.

You know, kid, this could lead to something.

Something spontaneous, unexpected, totally outta the blue.

What they call a moment, a happening, a connection…

baby this sounds old-fashioned nerdy, but I’d say we are connecting.

Honey this could really be.

I think I can feel it.

So close, so weird, but not totally unheard of

if in the next few minutes I suddenly start trending too,

like crazy trending, like broom-broom trending,

like trending my ass off, sugar,

and, elevating eleventeen gameplay levels,

oh baby,

and be right there

Secretly, Your Computer Loves You

Secretly, Your Computer Loves You (Photo credit: Amarand Agasi)

trending next to you.

One thing you can bet on

"Forgiveness: You cannot afford to withho...

“Forgiveness: You cannot afford to withhold forgiveness. Nothing will destroy your life more surely, for there is a great hidden grief in the denial of forgiveness. Your heart is so heavy from what you have not forgiven that you bear the offenses of anoth (Photo credit: deeplifequotes)

…time i had a little…

…tell you it was only…

…lookin’ at a genuine..?

….what’s the point of trying…?

…no one said it would be…

…doo0 you mean exactly…?

…so this is how the story…?

…strange i can’t remember…

…I’m asking you, you’re asking me….?

….and just who is going to believe…?

…well, this is one fantastic…

…time we did a stocktake….

…find this quite amusing…

….nothing else I’d rather…

…happy now? there it is…

…and will someone please? Please?

…only thing I’m saying…

….will someone please, I’m begging?

….no longer quite so funny…

….look stop,  just stop,  now stop or I call security…

stop.

One thing you can bet on…

if you don’t stop that fat lady getting on the stage,

she is gonna start singing soon.