CAUTIONARY TALE
VII--CONFUSION
Confusion rules the mind and I don’t mind what I don’t
understand. I get that it’s cold outside in this eighty degree weather and that
the conifers and deciduous trees are not the same but they share soil and their
roots intermingle at the corner bar named Down Under and Dirty. I wonder why when in the dark of night a sole
bird makes noise that mingles with the train horn, police siren chasing down
another grandma speeding, and the puppies at the puppy mill up the street, it
actually sounds like a choral piece of music highlighted with the thrum of car
tires that are dry rolling across wet pavement.
I wonder where I have been lately. I haven’t been hiding, I locked myself inside my house and couldn’t find my keys.
I wonder where I have been lately. I haven’t been hiding, I locked myself inside my house and couldn’t find my keys.
I don’t really care because I had my Tim Horton’s coffee
card with me. There is no money left on it but I had it so there was the
possibility that if I wasn’t as cashless as I am clueless, that if I found
$2.12 on the ground I could have put it on the card and had a coffee. Of course
if I found it anywhere other than the ground I would have spent it foolishly on
something other than Horton’s coffee. Two Loose cigarettes from the Arab who
owns the gas station and charges a buck for a loose cigarette add in the 6%
sales tax and I would have smokes. Which would go well with a Tim Horton’s
coffee but then you know when everything is confusion choices have to be made
and I usually choose to just stay home because running the gauntlet of thugs,
thieves and police who don’t chase anyone under 50 just isn’t worth the cost of
finding $2.12.
I have said this before I think, I need to start using drugs like reefer or heroin to really be a writer of note because everyone loves the words of a junkie or is that everyone loves a junk dealer? Everything is confusion but somehow it all makes sense when you think about it; after all I am the one who is confused, not you; you have your shit together.
I have said this before I think, I need to start using drugs like reefer or heroin to really be a writer of note because everyone loves the words of a junkie or is that everyone loves a junk dealer? Everything is confusion but somehow it all makes sense when you think about it; after all I am the one who is confused, not you; you have your shit together.
The rest of the world seems to be right on course to the
same self-destruction as last week and in that journey there is not a whit of confusion;
it is done with purpose and well planned so no confusion there. Population
elimination is right on track. Just don’t get confused it is NOT the massed
public debt of every nation on earth that the Oligarchs wish to be rid of. It’s
me and anyone like me, of that I am certain.
© M Durfee
© M Durfee
6/2/13
Jah finds ways to confound the haughty and their babylon system, Brah
ReplyDeleteALOHA from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral
~ > < } } ( ° > <3
> < } } ( ° >
Sistah I not concerned no more. take what little there is and we will either be alive or not afterwards. You should read up on the imminent collapse of this city it'd be funny if it wasn't being done for the pure ugliness of greed.
Deleteah but we keep feeding them with our loose change...they know our addictions...a smoke. caffeine...got us hooked and they keep making the money...strengthening their machines to cull...
ReplyDeleteOnly in reality Brian...only in reality.
DeleteI find it ironic that the world finds the words of a ex/junkie interesting ~ Is it because most of its readers were once/is junkie ~
ReplyDeleteMaybe its better not to read much then and get confused specially at night ~
Grace writers, especially them who write poetry have been known to push the envelopes of convention almost since the times of Ovid. Good poetry, the best poetry comes from that place in the brain that allows no lies, not even lies of self delusion. Not every poet need absinthe or weed to open that door, it is them that know this but never find a way to open that place are them who may find fame but not satisfaction. Those are the ones that should never own guns or gas ovens.
DeleteThe squalid little piece of writing is simply a bit of impressionism with some Dada imagery thrown in.
the more extravagantly one has fucked up, the more some folks will pay attention.
ReplyDeleteAs long as there is either great sexual travesty or violence the world will allow an extra 15 minutes Charles. It is important to me to write, to put words to thought, attention only figured in until I realized that brings a whole 'nother bucket of bass with it. I don't particularly like cleaning fish from a polluted river.
DeleteGod, no. Or whoever you implore to stop a travesty. No...no writings of a junkie or drug-addled brain for me. I like clear intentions, clear thoughts and the spoils of a normal life well-lived.
ReplyDeleteTalon I am willing to bet some of your favorite poets and writers have thought very highly of opiates and alcohol and suicide and self destruction as a requirement of them being able to produce fine art. Maybe if I cared whether I am remembered beyond my own children I would join them.
DeleteYou'd think if the oligarch wants to get rid of you, they'd make it easier to get cigarettes.
ReplyDeleteIt is easy, 2 cartons $16 bucks a month. But a dead man produces less than a living serf, at this moment the trick is to profit from mobility. If you wish to go and not run up debt you will pay. The ones who truly run this global world are not done squeezing us yet Alice. Some companies have not Wal-Martized yet.
Deleteabout to have the SHTF?
ReplyDeleteTony this is Detroit, the shit hit a long time ago but the fan hasn't thrown it out yet. *shrug* What will be will be and I have been in shit and glory for so long now that all i can do is continue to protect my good eye and ruin my sense of smell.
DeleteHeyahey ... back to the basics is always a good start ... like ... Woodstock ...
ReplyDeleteKitty my start was the end of the Korean war, Woodstock came much later, during the height of the Viet Nam war.
DeleteYou need not be a junkie or a drug dealer to be noticed, or even cited.
ReplyDeleteI join hundreds here to consider you outstanding.
...You so remind me of E. Henley, the old British poet. He had no feet-- but was he ever good on the patter they call poetic feet!
Example:
The skies are strown with stars,
The streets are fresh with dew
A thin moon drifts to westward,
The night is hushed and cheerftd .
My thought is quick with you.
Near windows gleam and laugh,
And far away a train
Clanks glowing through the stillness :
A great content 's in all things.
And life is not in vain.
You are a braver person than I ~ I am simply unable to live in cities any more. Still every line in this poems is hypnotic. "I wonder where I have been lately. I haven’t been hiding, I locked myself inside my house and couldn’t find my keys." That happens in the desert too... :-/
ReplyDeleteProphets and Poets have so much in common. Not the least of which how much the "public" both loves and hates them. Lifting the veil of human urban intoxication (acquiring wealth, posssessions or the not so simple struggle to survive), if only for a moment, clears our vision, whether we like it or not ~ you the Poet do that "Veil Lifting" well my friend.
ReplyDeleteAnd How can you be in two places at once when you are really no place at all ? . . . where is that from?
I don't see the self-destruction as much as you do, Mark, here among the woods and fields. But I know what's out there. Maybe for me it will come after I am gone. Who knows but the world is teetering.
ReplyDelete