Wintery Mix

She’s back with her cold embrace and icy stare that sends shivers up one’s spine. Arriving in the evening and dazzling with her white floating sparkles flashing against the black backdrop of the night sky. Moist and wet, desiring to envelop with a blanketing lust……………


…………I should be a Weatherman

pieces

I open my mouth and pieces of me fall to the ground. Left behind like some breadcrumb trail to follow home. And I wonder if anything will be left in the end. I don’t think I can take them back, yet though about it. But once they have been released, they seem to take on a life of their own. And the meanings and intentions that they were infused with seem to become convoluted with each passerby that touched upon them.


What do you mean by that?, she said.

I should just stop now.

Too late.

Land of Milk and Honey

In the land of Screub,
past the mountains of Blaizar.
There once lived a sad boy,
who couldn’t go very far.

See his head was full of thinking,
and thinking he certainly could.
But they didn’t like that in Screub,
and you would land in prison, as you should.

So in a small little square cell,
bolted and chained out of sight.
This sad boy couldn’t tell,
whether it was day or night.

And amidst the torture and screams,
this sad boy certainly found.
That he still had plenty of dreams,
even though he was bound.

In the emptiness and solitude,
his imagination did bloom.
Which really pissed off the Screubinities,
And sealed his ultimate doom.

See in Screub only the few rich,
were allowed to have dreams.
All others were there to serve them,
and live and die with little means.

We cannot allow this to continue,
The Screubinities did say.
At first he was just thinking,
but now he’s dreaming, dreaming that way.

So the Screubinities set up a plan,
to get into the sad boys head.
And steal all of his dreams,
even when he was not in bed.

They labeled his thinking,
subversive, ill-conceived and wrong.
Because nobody should be thinking,
not even in ballads or song.

Then they covered his dreams,
With materialist worries and fright.
And stole them away,
In the middle of the night.

The sad boy was left,
With an emptiness in his head.
And after the theft,
wondered why he wasn’t dead.

So if you ever find yourself in Screub,
let it be said.
Be careful if you dream,
it might be off with your head.

You may think that this is a Fairy Tale,
hoping all along it’s not true.
But this is actually today’s life,
And they are really after me and you.

Rat's Ass

Ok, so that’s that. One year of my life totally wasted. Gone for naught. Not that I haven’t wasted other years. It’s just that this one, for some reason, seems particularly poignant. Anyway back to living, back to dying. Yet, I find myself at a loss of words. It’s not that I have nothing to say, moreover, it’s that my “give a damn” factor is very low. Not a lot of positive energy and an abundant of grey skies. I kinda now understand where that old saying of “don’t give a rat’s ass” came about.

And now the morning’s commute is dark, and so are my thoughts. Thus comes the season of shadows, darkness, fall. One of the only redeeming feature is Halloween. It will once again be a jaunt off to Manhattan to partake in the Village Halloween Parade. Glorious exciting All Hallows Eve, a night of mischief, decadence, and depravity. Those are some of my favorite things.

STOP it, stop it right now…Do Not think you will start putting a sound track behind this. Especially of THAT song from the "Sound of Music". So you can just stop that humming right now! I cannot stand the "Sound of Music". I always imagine that at the beginning, that high crane shot, where Julie Andrew is spinning on the mountain,  that I am in a helicopter with a high power scoped rifle. Just as she starts to sing, BANG. Bagged me a nun. Her bloody body sprawled out on the mountain side.End of movie. Ya, I will be rotting in hell. But once again I have gotten off track here, or have I? Ya, ya , ya…a rat’s ass.

bullet

It’s official, I’ve been a corporate whore for a full year now. Swallowing everything like a pro, including my pride.  Strutting my stuff and working my junk to the moaning pleasure of my clients and my Corporate Mother’s accepting smile. She just approved my performance with glowing reviews, but bitch slapped me with no greater share, no raise. And as she hit me again said “you make me do this, and now you will also pay more for your insurance”. Oh don’t pout, the black eye will go away, you know I love you, you are the best. But it’s all your fault, you just need to recognize your place”, she said, while pulling up her panties.  And I smile at the…praise. Sickening.  Daily, I can’t stand the person in the mirror. I can tell that I have been exposed to the infection, the zombie virus. I’m beginning to feel….nothing, not caring even as my soul drains away. I awake every morning and hope that someone will put a bullet in my head before it gets too late. But then sometimes I think it already is.  This is not where I thought I would be. All that education, all that hard work. Yet I can’t seem to formulate a plan of escape. That’s not like me, inactivity, inertia, apathetic. I’ve always been able to foresee the different paths and choose the right one, or at least one, for me. Yet now all is in a fog, the walls of this maze are very high, and I am dumbfound by the enormous ignorant culture that is attempting to chew me up like fodder. And I should be “grateful to have a job”. Which, don’t get me wrong, I am. Well at least sometimes. But sooner or later, that just becomes a threat. And not only are threats non-inspiring, I don't respond well to them. Yet here I am. I need to get back to my art. I wish I could pick up my camera without feeling ill….shit, what a truly whinny asshole I’ve become. Chalk up another loathsome character flaw.  Damn, I’m going to kick the shit out of that person in the mirror, just out of spite. Oh well, all in all, it’s just another rainy Monday. I think it will get sunny later.