The man, the earpiece
Listen attentive, cold passive
Grumbles and work stress vents
We hear. Think. Fathom proper response
Are we close or just compliant receptacles
She decides we abide
Everyone needs another listener
House of the Dead, Dostoevsky’s assemblage of his time in a Siberian work prison and his attempt to once again tell something of the human condition, his zeitgeist, spirits within and away.
Trying to pay attention and get through one page of a book again I stop and think/rethink/clink glasses of ice and whiskey no more neat drinks, and question us humans and Fyodor’s need to embrace and explain all society’s people. The reason I like him so much is it feels he does the same things as me and tries to hold onto this world and its people, flaws and foibles, misery and warmth, with this reasoning of our horrid emotions and mistakes. Aging and wisdom should be about some acceptance and understanding we all falter and flounder and flatter our failings. His acceptance and thoughts on the common man, the corrupt man, the strong person and the weak ones is his holding on to this troubled lot and embracing the errs and heirs of errs, he writes of these characters reflecting the world, Russian society, egos wisping through life, to rationalize each of us as a necessity. Life as we know it must encompass all of us and may be you need not love fellow man and woman but understand, try to understand the magic of man.
I feel the need to do this constantly, resist aversion and misanthropic sprees that tempt and please the darker part of me; black solids undulating against bright thoughts till engulfed morbidity.
There is flaw and frailty in every person. Every wisp just recollections of frightened eyes gazing upon a new world with light that beckons and burns. If I am here I am here to understand, given flesh and body and mind to comprehend this evolving vision.
Humans around; sensitive spirits, fools rushing, fading
making due with graces and goddamn
attaching to others for none shall be left alone
even when they resign themselves to it
even when they give in and fall
nails scraping on bottom pit
raw bloody snap breaks
push on knuckles to rise from the hard and hurt
nervous sweat drops on concrete
sound like muted thunder in ringing ears
frail arms lag and flex
weak so weak so sick of weak
self-lock prison crawl for break
eyes cast forever down, see the spots of light
follow, crawl, to crevice out of hole
I know I can be negative usually, as my friend always tells me because she’s the bright soul type with puppy dogs and rainbow skittle dreams and “life is so beautiful” oozing out her cutesy mouth. I guess I was like that for a time and then around 9 or 10 the dark side set in, I had lost some innocence somehow. You wouldn’t tell by looking at me. People always say I’m innocent or I look like an angel, which is weird and often comes from guys. But the Negative Nelly thing was worse before and so was the anger, years of corrupted focus to subdue that bitterness and raise the chips off the shoulders.
I feel people are so negative and angry because of different things happening in their life that compounds and gains interest and they feed it with that hateball, that cynicism and distrust. Then there are others who become that way through disappointment and loss of hope, hope in people, the world, humanity. You try to see silver lines in the veins of our mines but the awareness and bias makes you see off kilter, more red waves than blue. I figure I’m a little from column A a little from column B. It seems to take work to balance out the hardness and not hang with pessimism, the leather wearing rebel offering cigarettes and don’t mess with me vibes. It’s easier being cold and logical, there is less effort against the ego, less courage of the heart.
Warm people are great but I can’t pretend to be one of those all the time. A switch happened and you don’t just forget that side of you and harmonize what with the baggage of experience and lessons etched into you. I like to be around those people for a time and share the merriment, leech some of their brightness for my grayscale landscape. But I need the realists and a realist is balanced perspective, don’t skew one way, filthy neutrality. I envy my friend for her… simplicity of spirit I guess and the wholesomeness of it all but I cannot be her or any of the positivity people that are popping up in society with each generation. Maybe they think more about non-essential matters and are not political or philosophical, or maybe they have a better handle on the travails of the world and don’t let misplaced shadows darken their days. Whatever the case that’s their jam. Getting older is being comfortable with yourself and not castigating your flaws and foibles so I’ll live with the cynicism; cyanide and perturbation.
You go up there and be a comedian, you think you’re being real and honest like some Bill Hicks or Doug Stanhope. But are you being real or are you acting your whole life? Waiting for the courage for that voice inside you to come out, waiting for a time when you have laurels to actually stand on, waiting still to be a person and stop trying to be one. You’re one of the bros. You say the right things and you follow the social etiquette of the day and this is what makes you the good one in the scenario? I’m the asshole for getting pissed about a perpetual raw deal and venting from time to time, forgetting my senses and social graces and lashing out from pain and sorrow. I said the wrong things but do I spend my time mocking and ridiculing others’ flaws and foibles? Have I been taking the chaff off sensitive souls, throwing them like garlands for the children of the corn? Delighting in making light of mental illness and disabilities?
No I did not do that, I let out anger that was pushed down for years. I scared people and annoyed people and took to rudeness as dew to dawn; vitriolic expulsions and venom carnage spewing on the lot of them like Peter Parkers’ webbing. That cynicism envelops, that misanthropy becomes principle, gorging on hate and fear and planting seedlings inside to burst forth little cretin xenomorphs. An alien unto this world. Past sense, past illusions, partly past the ebb and flow of feelings, shedding respect and bitten tongues. I lurch forth the Hyde and hurl garbled insults at the tavern, at the club, at the meandering masses who I disdained so. Images in my head, prejudices formed and added to by years of mental/emotional assaults and self-esteem whittling, personas and faults splattered onto youngens in line of fire.
Reason abandons in times of need. Hate and anger commits to you and you to them. The dark side is mesmerizing and easy, the chip on the shoulder begs for release asking you to lay into laymen and curse and lash at this younger generation. You yawned at the old ones tsk tsking and lecturing and what have you turned into but another bitter adult annoyed at the ease of the new, the hand fed society, the instantaneous satisfaction built into every facet, every technology brought to market. Little piggies squealing for the goods and expecting it. That’s where the anger came, expectation, no appreciation, arrogance and self-worth from nowhere. No deeds accomplished, no back-breaking work and dirty jobs done. Spoon fed knowledge in the schools, on the web, and my what pride they would have in themselves. Superficially smarter and smugness lurking in those faces. Not everyone but I placed that mantle on all. All faces were smug faces, all talk was condescension and sarcasm. Years of pointed laughter makes minds merry with fret and paranoia.
But I learn, must learn, must evolve. A writhing Caterpie waiting for cocoon coil and fresh release with glitter wings on silver wind. Anger management placed and followed, inner calm on the purview. These mental machinations of aggression and bitchslapping get out of hand but a relief from the gulped aggro. Let me dance internally and let out the Hyde vicariously, supping on dreams of villainy and scorching earth theoretically.
We all have anger and hurt inside us, the goal is to calm, to yield to peace and overcome primal ignorance. Easy said rarely done. More years of meditation and logic to butter battered brain. The better side of valour in the distance and I’m Python walking into it.
To dance around in your lovely bones
To curl up with your sleepy voice
Crags and crusts in outer world
Smooth and silky within
Peanut butter and marmalade
Bittersweet lunchbox with the garbage pail kids. Hungry for love but hunger for the hell of it, need machine wanting want wantingly, the human condition bubbling up for recognition. A smouldering, heavy scar burned into the black blue skin of deceased warriors. Clans and clashes lay siege to beseech the ruler’s good graces. Just a man. Avuncular spectacular magnanimous man. All that glitters placed on the head, heavy brows for consternated relics humbugging usurpers and sloshing with the wine and meats. Garish robes and throny splendour, awash in mens’ adoration, sync up disdain amid the chorus, singing fools with patriot’s game. All hail heil hell on Earth in slumber. The deep scars throttle the airs with prideful ambition; revolution, resistance, rising tide quench the hunger of mealy masses wanting more.
Fickle workers and grubby hands brush away the spiteful spoon. Wooden oppressor smacks the lot round bout treats and treason, no mo soup for youse. Black death black soot, Poppins sweepers on the roof, chippy chaps on the loose. Clean the country clean the mind, sweep the streets of ugly mankind. War goes under, violence over, society mismatch, the apes take over. Furry fists and gnashing teeth, bone meal plenty and bloody meat, damnable cannibal run on all feet. Master mammals learn timidity alongside simian frivolity. Down we go for the new world colony.
Many Mad Hatters having their tea.
It’s so bizarre and absurd that police officers can commit such excessively violent and demented acts and don’t get fired right off but office workers get canned for stealing some pens or faking sick days or whatever. What is this reverence we’re supposed to have for mediocre macho men in uniforms who can’t handle being talked back to and can flip on you like a twoface. Big linebacker men rag dolling little girls and arresting them for no legitimate reason. And we have arguments about use of force training and proper education for these people? I don’t believe you need training not to be a psychopathic asshole, maybe I’m old fashioned but aren’t real men supposed to have restraint and control over their base primal urges? We have violent, badly managed little boys romping around in blue shields protected by the blue wall and defended by bitter people who have never had to face police violence or intimidation.
Blind eyes every way amid the fog of war. And this is turning into a war. It seems people actually want race wars, religious wars, martial law and order justification. We have no other avenue to these little minds but separation, division, suppression and hierarchy. Always the us vs. them mentality; xenophobic paint washing the town red in rigid bigotry, hate mongering trends ramping up the bass as we’re clubbed to death. Humans continue to make the same errors but with more technology and binding laws. People fear the mentally ill and think their safety is at risk but the ones in power who pretend to be sane are the real danger. Their arms reach wide in this world of lunacy. It would be great if this all was just a hologram and this was just some beta level to be tested out but what is this, insanity clouds? Is this like mice going mad and violent in times of overpopulation and overcrowding? Are we suffering from the fallout of abundance and prosperity or is this some new sickness inhabiting our minds and bodies? Many Mad Hatters having their tea in reverie and soylent glee.
Yearning for the connection but fear the entanglement. Push the pullers off the edge and run from the cliff. Huxtable hug stable, be nimble be quick, dodge charges of affection before rejection. Abandonment issues wrapped in cherry pie dreams stuffing fat face with paranoid filling. Keep away while red rover drones over, common stock emotionality imbuing social bonds. Abed me let me be let me be me alone me mi. Soft song sung in empty nights, howls converging from shut mouth dissipating into moonlight. Rudderless, partnerless, less is more, more is bliss? Will I chance the love game, will I suffocate? Will I tackle goals or will the crowd tackle me? Crushed from under, from beneath it devours, asphyxiate on heart in sleeve, bloody jersey.
Doing dishes in dim kitchen
Next room dark
Sick head stay inside
Sink floor floor good
Lie face down
Inside stay warm
Peace no attack
Desire. That illustrious ball of yearning imploding and reforming within you. In the loins in the heart, inna gadda da vida run run gypsy fun smashing croquet mallets against your achy breaky heart. This metaphysical elastic band twisting your want, tightening wincingly till gotta have it Flinstone cravings dull your mind and blaze the libido. Bedrock twist bed fellows, rubble trouble carnal addictions rouse from slumber. As you age the want grows, expands, takes little nibbles here and there, sampling like Kanye. You know how we do. New things learnt all the time, surprises herprises abounding past the birthday candles. Secret wishes kept hard inside, trust issues duct tape them firmly pressed. You wait for someone to share, to nurture nature, revealing the mirror into your cenobite fantasies. Pain and pleasures seeketh the user.
But there is ever more. Pandora’s box flushed open, sin delicious beckoning you for more nibbles. Desire grows, augments, manipulated chaos. Iron butterfly whipping up hurricanes. Tempest tragedy creating destruction but maybe you like it, maybe being out of control becomes the fantasy. Tied up romper roll; pinch, spank, nails pierce deep into soft flesh. Skin, sweat, lips, hips, nips. Adventure time for lusty ones, freedom to give in. Taboos serve less purpose in modern times, Desire’s wings allowed to grow. People are more accepting now so no need to be afraid, no shame spiral here.
Then Desire takes vacations. Lessening over time as age rears its head, prattling on and delighting itself with checkers and backgammon. No more inquiry, no finding out pleasures underneath the blanket. The somes of society still have at it, no need to burden themselves with saggy sexualis pushing heads in the sand. Cock and ball stories told around the city. Many pens write their ballads. Ink is spilt ink is saved with nary a judgement. Choose your own adventure kiddies.
Thus the cycles bend and sway on Oedipus winds. Psychotic erotic dabbles in mortal lives like greek gods. Plays and ploys all of it. But I envy these ones who dance with Desire. The butterfly fluttered away leaving small remnants at the doorstep. Too cold to go fetch it and I’m not even dressed for it. Little chills follow up the spine now and again. I wait for its expression, rapture rhapsody playing my song, though not much gets through, I push for spritely exuberance but nada. Whatever will be will be, new song old hat. My lover stands on golden sands and I look out at the sea. Old man come early. Give me another hit.