I want, I need to get back on track
I have lost my way
I don’t feel up to it
But my course is clear
I just need to take that first little step
But I know however many steps I take
I will never be in the clear
Back on track, safe and secure
Looking straight ahead, neither right nor left
With fear as my fuel
I’m scared when it’s out of control
when I don’t know what for
or how long
it seems so benign
but deep down inside
I’m scared
I will carry on
and sing the same song
tell myself I’m ok
but I am bruised and battered
and scared
Danger Lies Seductively
You Don’t Think About It All That Much
Just a Touch of Madness
Nothing More
Danger Is a Reckless Suitor
She Can Destroy Your World
In One Foolish Moment
Danger Should Not Be Courted
It’s Not Worth The Thrill
The Night Leaves It’s Mark
Danger Wounds The Heart
memengineering
peter lach-newinsky’s word and image lab
Never know what I’ll see on the Night Train
I’ve seen the shells of people long past death
Hanging on to the putrid stench
For a single distant hint
So horrible I can’t think
I let the Night Train carry me deep
So deep that I cannot recognize my face
Gazing at the ruins of a world that’s gone daddy gone
But the beatniks in their shit stained clothes
Play their bongos all night long
On the Night Train
Sometimes I think this night will never end
I’m tired, so tired, tossing and turning in my seat
Is this trip for real? or am I lying in bed?
Longing for sleep.
Kept awake by neon skies and cocky young ghosts
Their voices drone on making me sick
On the Night Train
HOLY MOLY
holy moly I didn’t see it comin’
stickin’ up outta the ground
got sucker punched as I left the barn
buns in the oven, dogs in the yard
chickens come home to roost
holy moly, I didn’t see it comin’
gotta pull myself up by the roots
EXCEPT MAYBE YOU
Nobody wants to see my penis and balls
This is certainly true
Except maybe you
HOT SUGAR MAMA
Hot sugar mama sittin’ in the kitchen
Whatcha’ got cookin’ today?
Cornbread muffins warm from the oven
There ain’t nothin’ left to say
EMBRACE MY FRAGILE BODY
Embrace my fragile body
enjoy my feeble thoughts this morning
This is what remains
Love me, hold me, and open the window
Can you smell the rain?
JUST FOR A LARK
Just for a lark
I upset the apple cart
and invent a new way to sail
I’ll be really naughty
and say crazy things
just for a lark
each day a new start
as I open up my heart
just for a lark
SITTIN’ ON THE TOILET
Sittin’ on the toilet
Thinking about Vladimir Putin
What’s he doin’?
Grunt! I think some more could come out!
JUST LOVE
The trick you see is to love all you see
Without reservation
or guidance from above
Just love
STORM CELLAR
Sometimes I spend my days in a storm cellar
waiting for the storm to pass over my head
Sometimes I worry as I sit in that cellar
With my bandaids and cans of beans
Will it ever be better? Can I come out of this cellar?
I think I need to pee.
A Single Chirp Is Given
Every Time I Leave My Door
A Single Chirp Is Given
When I Return
Is This Chirp a Warning?
a Greeting?
Not a Bird, but a human being?
Hard to Tell
A Single Chirp I Hear Each Day
So Sharp And Clear
Sometimes It Fills My Heart With Gladness
Other Times With Fear
Some Sort of Signal
So Far, So Near
I’m Here!! I’m Here!!
Here are some quick reflections on this fourth of July morning.
We are in trouble folks!!! When I read the paper (big mistake), I see the seeds of global decay, social disruption, and future despair dwarfing the present misery. Everyone who has plenty are merrily watching Big Bang Theory and working at their half-way decent job with a half-way decent wage and dreaming of their next vacation, while those who don’t have much continue to struggle. The options for the destitute are few and government is going to provide less and less. This is a recipe for riot and mayhem. When you examine history you can see where all of this leads. Our Republic is split, pretty much evenly, between the rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, the smug and the desperate. As happened in France in 1789, the poor and destitute will not sit idly by watching the rich cavort and flaunt their wealth in their faces. We have an obligation to bring this republic back into balance, but I fear that we have already passed from republic to oligarchy (rule by the rich). Only the rich, such as Mitt Romney, can afford to become President. The rich pull all the strings and continue to feel free to screw the rest of us over at their convenience. It is not a pretty picture. Our republic is in danger of collapse. It isn’t apparent yet, but give it a few years. Twenty years from now will either show that we got our collective act together or we will be actively fighting one another.
China is quietly waiting in the wings. China is preparing for the collapse of the West. They are teaching English to those who will become our future leaders. Could we suffer such a takeover? Quite possibly, we might invite the Chinese in. Chinese style Communism would have a strong appeal to those who have nothing, can expect nothing, and are tired of being the victims of an oligarchy. I am not a Communist or a Socialist, but I can understand the appeal. When you have nothing to eat, nowhere to live, Communism looks like the answer to your problems. We have far too many people on the streets.
Some radical changes are needed and I don’t see anybody stepping up to the plate. There are significant differences between Obama and Romney, but in the final analysis they miss the mark when it comes to having the guts to say that we have to stop being complacent and give up our creature comforts and life of privilege and take responsibility for this republic.
So I don’t feel terribly patriotic on this fourth of July. I don’t feel proud of how we celebrate celebrity, wealth, and treat all of the old liberal ideals with disdain. Our present culture is a culture of death. We are unconsciously embracing disaster, it gives us a sick thrill. We figure we have it coming, others are foolishly looking forward to the apocalypse, thinking they will be taken up into the clouds in a supernatural rapture. This is madness.
However, we have faced disaster before in our history, and we managed to avoid it. Perhaps we can again. There is reason to hope. There are many brilliant people out there. They are building a new paradigm, a new world which will take out the corrupt present paradigm by stealth. There is far too much going on in the world for anyone, myself included, to be able to keep track of. The newspapers have a disaster agenda, fear sells, and so they peddle dread. So I should take that fact into consideration. Much is happening behind the scenes, and the powerful may not be as powerful as they imagine. I sense big changes in the next few decades, both good and bad. I know that within each negative lies a positive and vice versa. It is up to us to provide the tipping point towards disaster or renewal.
My last thoughts? At some point in our own lives and in the life of the republic, something has got to give. Nothing just stays fucked forever. Things change.
There is a signpost up ahead
But I can’t see it yet
Adrift in my own fear
Clinging to that hope
Time races by like a runaway train
I thought I had something more to say
The fog collects as I reflect
On my way to already there
A signpost
Revelation
Celebration
An end that ushers in a beginning
Somewhere straight ahead
Can you see it?
I can, I can, I can only glimpse it
In my dreams
Thanks to Linda Plaisted. This is one of her exquisite photos which capture so much with so little. I lifted it from Flickr.
Check her out at http://lindaplaisted.com
I stand upon a distant shore
too far away to see my face clearly
I gaze lovingly upon myself
sitting on a bench looking frightened
legs pressed together and looking very old and frail
Don’t worry so much I say to myself
you are not this thing which tires too soon
when I want to go out and play
I am here where no wind blows
and nothing can ever hurt me
a distant shore
far away, where all day long is play
never changing
always welcoming
more real than anything
I can feel it behind the pain
the doubt and the despair
I am there
I am in a strange place tonight. It is getting late and that is when my thoughts are often not my own. Whose then? A self I have often disowned, been uncomfortable with and lies tucked away with my old photographs, journals, and acid flashbacks. Something is amiss, or perhaps, I was amiss before and now I am on the correct course. It feels as though I am on a double track, my actual life and imaginary lives overlap in a precarious manner. I need an outlet desperately, any outlet will do. There is another world which embraces this one, it comforts us as we stand in the fierce wind waiting for the bus. It carries me away to beautiful lands and to dark twisted sweat filled nightmares each night. Another life, another self. Here I am young, here I am female, or not even human. Here I am very very old, living alone in the midst of a vast desert of my own making. Here I am a celebrity, with many many people vying for my attention. I have many heavy responsibilities, and I can’t even remember my own name. SUch as it Is, I am CraCKing Up. It isn’t as much fun as I expected. All the usual habits fall away in the face of the abyss. Each day is a NEW DAY. When you are crazy, it is all new to you.
Now don’t get worried, I am not truly crazy, I am just feeling a bit dislocated. Like I said, I live many lives at the same time, and occasionally my focus wavers, and it is hard to sort things out. When the contents of your imagination outweigh all else it is time to stop and take an inventory. Do I have all my marbles? I do. I am exaggerating to make a point. We are all crazy to a degree. We are multitasking many many lives at once. We have a rich untapped tapestry which continues to surprise us, and provide us with source material.
But wait.
But wait.
This was not meant to reassure.
The world has become unhinged. Just read the news.
We are all cracking up by degrees. Sometimes I feel I have too much inside. I cannot contain it in a story.
It bleeds into my body, and possesses my mind with a noisy cacophony of meaningfulness, an urgent meaningfulness to which I must attend.
Cracking up.
Living a life for which I am no longer responsible, has it’s appeal.
Cracking up
Being taken care of for the rest of life, has it’s appeal.
But the nut house has it’s terrors.
And I have lived with my strange musings,
and will foolishly continue my flirtation with insanity
For that is the nature of the game
So much is going on, and I can only write about a small piece of it.
Still writing, though
In that, I find comfort.
russell5087 