01/18/2018 – Random Writing at 4 AM – Another Poem?

Inside my mind; I do find myself – not against the rage but not in peace either; the waves do crash upon the shore again; it is peaceful even in that storm, to hear the breaks, the rage.

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Sometimes I wonder though if this life is even worth that rage.

A NOTE TO MY DEAR READERS: 

I wrote a piece tonight; at 3 AM, at a different site – Random Writings at 3 AM(Click! READ!!!) 

My mind is awake; keeping me awake in body and soul, so I write to amuse you; TO AMUSE MYSELF, I dare say, to pull from me that place words, to place upon the screen to let you read that which is inside my head; inside my brain.

Photo0047Here in the world; the darkness of the late night or early morning; I know not what, it matters to your perception; I begin to write, silly things, my words, thrown together quite madly, nothing in design or planning; random words typed quickly before they are lost to that insanity; no rhyme or reason I should say.

A memory interloped into the mess: not THAT far away in time but enough to make me realize, I am old, middle aged.

I was in high school, memorizing the passages of darling buds of May; henceforth a love done lost, to wishes and dreams unloved; is not that reality better to live, to breathe, to see, to feel that heart break then never to have loved before?

Memories trance themselves into view randomly; as if in a dream, I shall sleep soon, I believe, I shall see the faces of those who dance among the cerebral consciousness of myself, in that dream land, peeking out from here and there; tonight my dear readers is but a mess, of randomness.

My English teacher; throwing pages down upon my desk; a composition in my first madness.

‘Unbelievably dull characters; nothing seems alive, dead! Dead! Dead! F!’ she wrote upon it; in red. ‘You’ll never be more than what you are!’

I never understood, I still don’t; it’s impossible to be more than what you are; unless you break the laws of time and space; split the universe in half, rip reality into ninths and shit upon it all!!

But I digress, sweet readers, I do not know where my mind will take us; into madness, into love, into that sweet embrace of timeless wonders; that first kiss, that first date, that moment of first joy of release, though I shall not say that first fuck!

Words do drift out; could this be the end or the beginning?

I do not know; let us begin; said the joker to the king.

We all wears masks; we hide the reality, it is easier that way; the characters do drift in and out of our lives; and make us happy, sad, indifferent, etc. etc. etc.

This is how it shall be; the beginning, the middle and the end.

The holy trinity!

Good night; till tomorrow, I am forever indebted to you, dear reader, as you share with me; this journey through time and space; Good night!!!

 

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FAMILY FUN AND OTHER STUFF

~ CHAPTER ONE ~

FAMILY FEUDS OR HOW THE WORLD ENDS

Every family has one or two or half a dozen or more, those family feuds that can last centuries – Uncle A cannot stand Aunt B and such.

Seemingly, the holidays are the perfect time for these feuds to begin.

Take for example in my family; in 1958, or sometime in those hazy times, when the clouds form inside the brain fogging out the reason for the feud but giving it still a hint to know there is a feud, Great Aunt 1 took a piece of cake and began eating it.

“This cake is kinda dry.” she whispered to Great Aunt 2 who, unbeknownst to Great Aunt 1, had made such cake.

Great Aunt 2 huffed and puffed and  threw her hands in the air.

“How rude!!” And stormed out of the house to never speak a word to Great Aunt 1 for close to 50 years.

A feud soon started over chocolate cake.

I guess wars have started over less.

My aunt, my pop’s sister, will not speak to my uncle, her brother and hasn’t since basically time began.

I was born in 1971 and they weren’t on speaking terms since before then.

It always puzzled me and I asked both sides what was going on.

My uncle would tell me, “I have no idea! I’ve tried to mend the relationship many times! I love my sis!”

My aunt would reply, “He knows!” and then would hang up the phone angrily.

My pop would smile slyly and reply, “I think it’s over her bike that she thinks he chopped down into a chopper. I did that!”

Years have gone by, Presidencies have changed hands more than I can count, and still, my aunt will not speak to her brother, my uncle.

I got a reason this summer, as I stayed a few nights in a motel room in Butte, Montana.

I had bought a bottle of Black Velvet and was drinking it with diet coke(I have to watch my shape and yes, round is a shape) and soon found myself dialing my aunt.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Jello!”

We both laughed.

Why?

I have no idea.

After some small chit chat about cousins, friends and other stuff, I approached the topic easily, with just a touch of harshness to make it seem like a grill session at the police station.

“Why do you hate your brother?” I half yelled drunkly into the phone.

“I don’t hate him, I hate his wife!” the truth came out, though, my aunty S, had figured that out many years before.

Apparently, on a Christmas Day, back before the dinosaurs or 1958, the family had gathered at my grandparent’s place, a place that does not exist any more, even the town it was in is now gone, swallowed up by The Berkeley Pit.

After a feast, the family moved to the living room, for conversation and homemade beer.

Something happened that day, a fight of words broke down between my Aunty S and my grandfather; hiss growl, you, no you!!!

And soon the great rift between the family would begin; though no one remembers what started the fight, I believe it was over chocolate cake!

~CHAPTER TWO~

Stalker Dating Imaginary Love

June was waiting for something, drinking a half empty bottle of wine, on the bench, sliding south.

Where genius met, nobody knew, especially June.

Categories of questions fell from the sky, striking her on the nose in the form of rain.

She feared the dark but hated the light even more, in the light, they, the normal peoples could see the tears, the bruises, how she hated the light, that which exposed the truth, and the pain.

There was that chance, out there, someone was watching, knowing, seeing the truth, seeing her madness as she danced naked there in her yard at midnight.

A few times the neighbors, nosy pricks, would call the cops.

A few times she’d be placed in “For observation – 3 days” to see if she was a harm to herself.

A few times she had danced to the rhythmic music with a gun to her head.

She wouldn’t have pulled the trigger and even if she had,she didn’t have enough money for the bullet.

One time, she had pawned the gun to buy some bullets but then it came to her, where would she get a gun and she went home, downed a bottle of scotch she had stolen from the liquor store and danced around the yard naked making wild hand gestures to the sky above in hope that the aliens would see her.

She felt like a trapped being on this planet, like her true self was meant for some other place, out there, among the stars, maybe she was a princess.

Or a warrior, killing those who opposed her mighty sword.

She had a boy friend, a few actually, all imaginary but it kept her mom happy.

“How is life?” her mom would ask.

“Great! Stephen is taking me to the movies tonight!”

What was the harm?

If her mom asked, the movie was great, Stephen was now somewhere else, fighting for our freedom.

If she got too nosy, Stephen was killed, land mine, blew him to Mars.

It all made sense, inside her mind, she didn’t need Stephen anyways, she had Mark, an actor, he was on a TV series, she had sent him a letter, he had sent her a picture, yes, Mark was the answer to the question.

Now if only she had a gun….

Monday December 12th, 1921 –

My dearest Lanora,

My true love, to hold you one last time, to kiss thy lips, sweetness, embrace, shall we?

…it seems…

…I assume…

To be, as the young say about me, to be ‘improbable’ in things that could be, but in the scheme of things, are not.

Where? To see that smiling face of yours upon a vision, a quest?

To hold your hand, gently, tenderly, in mine?

To reach out towards a dream, of passion, fiery, disillusioned by that feeling, in the mind, in the loins, to hear the calling, under that pale moon light.

Who here does not know that feeling, of love?

A madness some say, to love, to dream of that sweet kiss upon the lips of a suited lover, a sweet, maddening thing, matter not that age, but in the heart, to rip apart, to destroy, with mere mentions of running away from that which is love

To fade in bitterness and hate.

I write you this letter, though I dare not send it, in case your family shall read it, to know I lust in my heart, to care, to love thee in such a way as to be almost a sin of that thee flesh, pressed against mine, in a forbidden way.

I would purpose to thee, on bended knee, to ask for thy hand, but alas, I am too poor, in both money and spirit, a broken man, this wine my only friend.

So here I sit, upon a plot of land, underneath that willow tree we once sat under, a stolen kiss, a glance, my hand on your lap, writing this letter to you, my sweet love, my Angel, thee who drives me to better things.

When I think of thee, I smile, my colleagues think I am growing quite mad, to hear them say, it is as you do not exist, I am writing these letters to a ghost, a nonperson, if such a term exists.

I tell them you are quite real, not a dream in my mind, scattered to the four corners when I awake.

They do not understand, how could I, a man of the cloth, a priest, be in such love, sacrilege, a sin?

I wish I had not taken this path, I wish I had gone with thee when you asked, my love, to raise a family with you, to be there for you, as you would be there for me.

Remember our talks in this place?

That night?

I remember it well.

I can still smell your sweet perfume, feel your soft hands in mine.

How I wish I could go back in time, to that day, to be there one more time with thee.

I know impossible, but, a dreamer dreams a thousand dreams, to sleep, to wander that sweet place in hopes that you are there.

Mayhaps tonight, you shall be there, I may hope, though dare not speak it, so that I do not curse myself, so I shall wander back, in hope, sweet love, that I shall see thee tonight.

With my love,

I shall send you this letter, I care not who reads, I am yours, in body,

Franklin

The Dancer: a poem

Posted: September 27, 2017 in fiction, POETRY
Tags: , , ,

Into the night her dreams did come, her eyes glowed with love and time.

She dances in moonlight with stars in her eyes, laughing and laughing and spinning around.

She sees through the madness, and chuckles and glides, her kisses as sweet as the wine.

Children of madness do not bother her, she is the gardner, making the world growing madly in the dances she does.

She is the one whose smiles can stop all the wars, whose words can cut to the bone.

She is my soul, she is my love, dancing among the stars, words do not describe what I am missing…..

 

2016 – the presidential election year that would go down in history as the biggest circus ever, mostly filled with clowns.

Hillary Clinton was suppose to win, according to polls, everyone was on board the train.

Donald Trump won.

I knew he would.

It wasn’t because I liked Mr. Trump and to be fair disclosure I voted for Hillary Clinton.

It was because he told the right people what they wanted to hear.

“Damn Mexicans! Build the wall!” Etc. Etc.

To the world who ask, no, he did not win the popular vote which yes I knows seems strange, trust me, I am confused too.

But I will also admit I do not like Hillary Clinton and in her run against Bernie Sanders to become the nominee, I voted Sanders.

Yes, my dear friends, I became “one of the sexist assholes” who did not join in line with the idea of our first woman president.

Not that I don’t want a female president, I think we as a country are way overdue in that field, I just didn’t and don’t want Hillary Clinton as president.

Why?

She, like all politicians, lie, cheats and steals.

This does not mean I wanted our first game show president to be Donald Trump.

He is our worse president ever and I doubt there could be another as bad as him.

It is possible that he could be our last due to the nuclear doomsday clock striking closer to midnight, that final countdown as portrayed in song.

Would we be in the same muck and mire if it was President Hillary Clinton?

Maybe.

Would she really act differently than Trump if the Russian hacks and bots had swung the votes to her?

We’ll never know.

Do I know without a doubt such meddling happened?

It’s highly likely but in that election year of 2016, it just seemed normal, like part of the process.

Not only the Russians but the DNC screwing the odds against another candidate but again “not proved!” screams the machine but if the tables had been turned, would they have screamed the same?

I do not know.

It just became the norm.

Welcome to the new order…..it doesn’t matter what you offer but how the TV ratings goes or how much the books sell.

Now I sit here, Trump screaming at NFL players using their freedoms of speech.

And Hillary calling me a sexist as she does her book tour interviews.

I feel shame.

A system I have loved since I was child is becoming a joke.

Both sides should be ashamed.

 

I am insane enough that the world seems sane, cosmic drifts lightly into a time shift.

I realize that my eyes have seen it all from the bottom of the pit, the lies in purple light.

March towards the madness, brilliant minds sent into madness, grabbing at the night, fire flying through the sky, of ancient passion realized.

Hark, in angel voices, against the howling of the winds, she looks into a broken mirror, sees the ugliness she thinks she is, slits her wrists to feel the pain, to see the world drain from her veins, the venom from those hates.

She would not live in the style of her fallen light, drift away in a passionate kiss, fly into the dying light, the road explode in cosmic drift, purple light haze, a miracle birth then die, passion life, born again to just die again.

Over and over, cosmic death inside herself combined.

I tried, I could not fly but did not lie in broken lies, dreams? I could not lie.

She did die on that night, her soul broken, her mind, it was not a beautiful death, it was a crime, the butterfly crushed.

And in the distance, the fires burned and the future claimed another life!