Tag Archives: death

Chaos reigns


Things just build up

Thought by grisly thought

Till it bursts forth and many people die

I don’t know how to deal with this thing

Chaos reigns within the heart of things

Sheer terror in the night

I feel it on the bus every day

I see it in the faces of the crazy motherfuckers

Who rule the streets of hell

I have told myself to just ignore it

Otherwise it could drive you mad

But Chaos is real

Dark Knight, Dark Night

Life and art implode

And real flesh and blood appears

Real death stands stark and naked on the page

Chaos reigns

Don’t know what else to say

How to prevent it? You tell me.

But perhaps we could stop courting our worse tendencies

And try to love those lost souls who hate us

Good advice, but good luck with that one

Where Uncertainty Reigns


I should be happy. I have a good job. It’s true I cracked under stress and blew up at my boss, but that got cleaned up, and now I am an even better employee than before. But I worry. Boy! do I ever! I worry about keeping this job and I worry about my health. I worry about how much more time I have left on this dismal Earth. But in spite of all that, happiness often breaks out within my body and my soul and I am happy. For absolutely no reason whatsoever. That is a blessing. But most of the time I fret. I feel tired and there is never enough time. Everything seems fragile, temporary, and quite uncertain. Most of the time I am in that place where uncertainty reigns.

I can’t seem to relax and just let things be. I have to know what lies ahead and be comforted that it will be alright. My anxiety poisons my experience, and I am often not fully present. I dwell in my fevered imagination, where the silence is filled with an indefinite fear. Sometimes I feel pissed off and I am not clear why. It seriously gets in my way at times, and then I get angry because I am angry, and then I feel sad. I feel empty, misunderstood, and unappreciated. This is how it feels in an uncertain world. This is how it feels when you have an apartment but you no longer have a home. I seek a reassurance that cannot be obtained. Of course Jesus loves me, but this fails to comfort me. I feel abandoned by time. I have gone past my date and grown curdled and sour. I need more time, or even better, I need to stop time altogether and give myself an opportunity to catch up with myself. I am too damn old. What happened? Where was I all this time? Daydreaming about my future while failing to notice when that future arrived? Sounds about right.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my life. I am not always filled with anxiety. Sometimes I am comfortable with uncertainty, or even enjoy it. The risk is intoxicating. When everything is going really well I seem to always find a way to fuck it up. I’m sure this sounds quite familiar to many of my readers. But, still…..Those two words are the words that define where uncertainty reigns. Everything is good, I’m happy, but, still…….

I hate how this uncertainty prevents my truly enjoying the time I have left on this exasperating but fascinating planet. I realize some people turn to alcohol or drugs to silence that constant drumbeat of uncertainty. I try to use sex for that purpose but it only emphasizes the emptiness, and how terribly temporary it all is. All is fleeting, and it is up to us to catch a bit of meaning along the way if we can. Some find solace in religion, politics, or a stamp collection, but I can never commit myself fully, because uncertainty reigns in my soul. Nothing is ever enough, nothing feels truly complete. There is the feeling that something is missing, and I will die before I find it. There is that nagging doubt which always insists that whatever the truth is, this ain’t it. A mistake was made, and I am dealing with the consequences. All of us are. We make the best of it. Sometimes I am depressed over all of this, and other times I am filled with joy in spite of all of my attempts to sabotage my magnificence.

I know that I am bigger than all of this. This malignant tumor of a philosophy whose odor taints my perfect knowledge is like a hobby of mine. I use it to hedge my bets, for I am always suspecting that I may be full of shit. Bliss and Bullshit come full circle and become one. It doesn’t really matter in the end. It is what it is, and becomes a perfect whole. In the end I will be struck dumb by delight and disappear into the night.

Uncertainty reigns and that’s alright. The end will arrive before I have even begun. I won’t be prepared, but then, have I ever been prepared? Life seized me and threw into this mess to make of it what I will. Whatever lies ahead I accept. I know absolutely nothing, I am as fresh as the first atom peeking out from nothingness.

It’s a Long Long Journey to Your Heart


The daffodils you planted

Still remain

Swaying in the gentle summer breeze

It’s a long, long journey to your heart

I remember how you smiled

And tried to make it all ok

It’s a long, long journey to your heart

I had a dream one time

I had made my way back home

All the windows were broken

The rooms filled with dust

It’s a long, long journey to your heart

We argued, we fought, we had so much to say

So far away, so very far away

If I could have you back

If I could hold you in my arms

I would be young again

I can almost remember your face

It’s a long, long journey to your heart

And time is drawing short

Soon all will be forgotten

The sun is fading

The crows are cawing

It’s a long, long journey to your heart


Chronicles of Russell


























Creepy Faces in the Woodwork


something strains to be let in to our world from URL http://vals366.blogspot.com/2011/07/definitely-creepy.html

SOMETHING STRAINS…..IT GROANS…IT MEANS TO FIND IT’S WAY…..IN…TO…OUR…WORLD. Lurking about in the furniture. You see it in the woodgrain of your magnificent dresser. It lies in wait. For what? Our consciousness embraces the physical world in strange and inexplicable ways. Faces peer out at us from beside the bathroom mirror, you turn to confront your intruder and it is gone. Fleeting impressions prefer the borders of our perception. 

Are you scared? Does it trouble you that many things are unexplained? We still huddle down in our little huts, protected by our electric lights from the deep, dark depths of uncharted domains, just out of reach. They haunt us nevertheless, these faces. The remains of some of the victims of 9/11 are destroyed without honor or respect, and the faces grimace beside the stove. Bodies tossed down a well by a thoughtless killer. The faces scream. silently…..just past the back porch screen. And what of Hitler? you hear whispered faintly from beyond the grave. What of my mother, my sister? Gone now. Faces remain in the ancient stained wallpaper of the upstairs bedroom used no more. Faces.

Have you passed by faces in the strange little buildings in the odd little alleys where no one goes anymore? Except you.

Something’s speaking, lonely grieving for a world lost long ago. Just a flickering flame remains. Faces you cannot face. Faces that scare you to death. Such faces! Filled with hate!

I have seen such faces in the stillness, in the spaces between my thoughts. The faces are the traces of the lives cut short. In the lightning In the rain You see faces. Face the blame.

I cannot continue to write of such faces because the current is so dim. It is hard to make out the faces. We need to come to terms with the faces, for they are our responsibility. You must learn to love the faces, or they will give you no peace. Faces in the waxworks, rigid in their righteous resolve. Beyond this point, no more!

It is unwise to peer into the eyes of these faces, lest the faces pull you in.  A mind cannot bear such faces, it preys upon it’s roots. Faces know no truth. Only a vague and pitiful pout. The faces must go out. out of my miserable sight. Something creaking crawling, straining to get out. Faces implore us, faces implore us, oh please sir, is this death?


Don’t ask me what this one is about, it was written after midnight on the fringes of consciousness. Who is this gothic scribe that possesses my tired arthritic  hand so late at night?

Death is God’s F**k You



I don’t want to be overly coarse and harsh, so I choose to use asterisks for the title of this post. But my feelings are raw. It’s about Death. Death really pisses me off. Why Death? No. I mean, really! Why Death? What kind of sick trick is this? God is one sick f**k! We are brought into the world just to die. Think about it!! Whitney Houston is dead. Normally I would just feel badly and let it drift away into my already wounded subconscious. Not this time, though. I was already sad. I was already pissed. I did love the way the news announcer looked when she gave the news. It was like “Oh God do I really have to lay this one on them?” I mean she really didn’t want to give us that news. I could tell. It actually touched me. We are all victims on this pitiful Earth. Because we die. We get a brief glimpse of the divine only to die as an animal. It makes me angry. God is an a**hole!

Why all the asterisks you ask? Because if I let myself get into a rant it wouldn’t be fun to read, it would just be sad. So I temper my feelings just a little. So I can say what I really want to say. Why is it that we die? Who is responsible for this? I don’t want to hear all the usual metaphysical mumbo-jumbo. It fits into the grand scheme of things blah blah blah. I have done this stuff too, even in a very recent post. Maybe we will discover our own true nature. Yeah, right. Maybe we are just f**king dead! Dead meat. Maybe somebody f**ked up, and the results were dumped on some God forsaken planet in a God forsaken galaxy, We are somebody’s abortion. I swear I feel like an aborted fetus at times.

Death is an outrage!!! We should not be happy with it. We should not justify it. We should overcome it.

Now I can feel my sense of outrage subside and rationality setting in. That is how it works. Our reason serves as an anaesthetic, numbing us to the truth. Because the truth is sheer terror. A gaping maw of nothing. NOTHING Get your head around that! You can’t. So you rationalize. “It’s all so sad.” we say and of course it is inadequate. We can’t address this horror with words. I can remember vividly the horror, the outrage I felt when I was at my Mother’s funeral. The grotesque, surreal scene of my Mother’s body, an embalmed chunk of meat, lying in a coffin, surrounded by roses. What the hell is this? Somebody’s idea of a sick joke? She’s dead, and you stick her corpse out here for us to see? How sick is that? It felt like the entire fabrie of the world should be rent asunder. No, the wind is not allowed to blow, the birds are not allowed to sing, all must come crashing down and end. For my mother is dead. Nothing is right about that. Nothing is right about anything, it is all one flimsy prop on a rotting stage.  A badly written, and even more badly performed joke. That is death. It rips away the polite facade and exposes this worst of crimes. There can be no justice, so long as there is death. I indict God as the arch criminal, No loving God would deliver such a curse.

I know there are other ways of looking at Death, but that does not concern me now. I am not rational. I am not sane. I am alone, facing my death with a defiant stare. You brought me into this world and now you take me out. I hate you with all of my righteous power. Death has no place in my universe. I refuse to grant you this authority. F**k you, God. The Lord of Deceit should be your name!

This is how we should address the whole issue of Death. Philosophy be damned!

What Me Worry?


Remember Alfred E. Newman? The guy on the cover of Mad magazine that looks like Ted Koppel? He was one of my childhood heroes. Nothing fazed him, nothing was sacred to him. Of course he was a moron, but still… I worry too damn much. It is like a radio which plays inside my head morning, noon, and night. And it is always the same songs. “Will I keep my job?” “Will my health hold up?” “Will my eyesight get worse?” “Will I ever get laid?” “Will I ever receive any comments on my blog?” Actually I’ve given up on the last two. Those things don’t happen in the real world. Worry pours a dirty gloss over all of our experience, spoiling it. I hate worry. Of course, as I pointed out in an earlier post, you get what you resist. So I may as well embrace it. Savor it. All the subtle flavors of worry. Should I eat this? What does that person think about me? blah blah blah. And when you project this onto the international scene, well, this introduces a whole new level of worry, doesn’t it? I just know something dreadful will happen, and actually a part of me yearns for something, not necessarily dreadful, but something big and powerful to happen. Something awe-inspiring, so we can stop talking about Newt Gingrich, and go on to something truly important. That idiot, excuse me ‘historian’, will not be nominated or elected. That is actually one thing I don’t worry about. I wish the Occupy movement would get it’s shit together, and I also wish Wikileaks would get it’s shit together as well. That thing where they hacked into a security company and used customer’s credit cards to donate money to charities was a bonehead move. While it seems really cool at first, you realize that that only causes problems for the charities. Because you know those yuppies are going to insist on a chargeback for every penny. So, I just worry that some well-meaning anarchist will get hands on an atomic bomb and decide to wipe out New York City, or LA. He may think we would all be better off without those cities, but that is just not a good idea. Ok, guys? But there are guys out there who I think would do that if they had the bomb and the opportunity. But I don’t really worry about that stuff, or any of the end of the world nonsense. I know that I will be facing my own personal end of the world before long, and that is the apocalypse that worries me. I realize it makes no sense. Actually no worry makes sense when you examine it logically. But examining things logically never seems to help when it comes to emotions. But think about it, if you survive death, you could discover that it is better than this is, you might think “Oh Yeah! I remember this place! I hope all my stuff is still where I left it.” or maybe you can review the life you just left just like rewinding a tape, and can relive certain parts so you can do something differently and see how that would have turned out, or maybe it just sucks like this life, if so you got through this one. so….., or maybe there is nothing, or worse yet, Bill Maher is standing there telling you “You see! It’s just like I said. Nothing!”. But if it is nothing, then quid pro quo. you aren’t there either, so you can’t be pissed off about it. OMG I don’t exist! Wait a minute…. These are the things that sometimes go through my head during the down times in my life. Waiting in line at the supermarket, walking to work, waiting for my vegetables to come to a boil. I worry about death. And then I think about Woody Allen and I smile. I worry about death a lot, and about winning the lottery. But when I am on the toilet, I think about Vladimir Putin, I’m not sure why. I’m starting to worry that this post is too long and I’m boring you. Of course, the ‘you’ is probably myself. Hopefully, other people are reading this. If so, leave a comment, damn it! If only to say “You’re not alone.” but don’t include an emoticon. I hate those damn things!

I will leave you with one of the most obnoxious songs of all time. I can remember when “Don’t Worry Be Happy” came out and how almost everyone hated it. And yet the song was a huge hit, so I think a lot of these people secretly loved the song. People who worry a lot tend to hate this song. It is one that you should only listen to when you are feeling happy, unless of course you just want to torture yourself.