“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
I'll Go On...
“Unfortunately I am afraid, as always, of going on. For to go on means going from here, means finding me, losing me, vanishing and beginning again, a stranger first, then little by little the same as always, in another place, where I shall say I have always been, of which I shall know nothing, being incapable of seeing, moving, thinking, speaking, but of which little by little, in spite of these handicaps, I shall begin to know something, just enough for it to turn out to be the same place as always, the same which seems made for me and does not want me, which I seem to want and do not want, take your choice, which spews me out or swallows me up, I’ll never know, which is perhaps merely the inside of my distant skull where once I wandered, now am fixed, lost for tininess, or straining against the walls, with my head, my hands, my feet, my back, and ever murmuring my old stories, my old story, as if it were the first time.”
Mistaken notions in the world abound -- Unheard of at the time when I was born. Surrounded –– soaked –– in crass, unwanted sound I’m buried –– suffocated –– and forlorn. Consciousness invaded by loud static –– Ambushed –– conquered –– isolated –– snuffed –– Languishes while Coarseness brays ecstatic. The mind can’t thrive when with distractions stuffed –– Over-filled –– with poisonous temptations Instigating sullenness engaged In assertive –– mulish –– non-participation Erupting just when pointlessly enraged. The times have changed; they have become deranged. Silence, from our world’s become estranged.
O, Christ, why can’t we hear it through the din? Under what extreme conditions might we learn? Rape invited’s wicked, though we’re in Denial that our fate we richly earn. Everyone must someday realize Beating life can’t be. We’re bound to crash. The Law of Averages whittles down to size. The brightness of Ascent soon feels the lash Held by hidden Masters of Deceit –– Rapacious, ruthless, fearful and despotic –– Each a perfect model of conceit –– A joyless soul, pathetic and neurotic. To be at the beck and call of godless knaves Strengthens faith that none but Jesus saves.
Schools now function more as killing fields. Careless parents –– cultural decay –– Hopeless lack of leadership that yields Only cowardice sure to delay
Overcoming suicidal urges –– Leading always first to homicide –– Gives vent to pious hypocrites’ dull dirges –– Useless noises no one should abide.
Evil flourishes among the lazy. Recalcitrance must be forever fought. Indolence and insolence make crazy Losers. When inadequately taught ––
Legions –– long conditioned to lay blame Away from Self –– have made our world grow lame.
Go quickly to the window; take a look. Outside on the horizon past the lawn An army gathers set to move at dawn. From their demonic, sacred Holy Book Authority for their campaign is drawn To compensate for old affronts. Their aim Provides excuse to loot, destroy and maim Innocent descendants whose heads sawn –– Slowly, severed from their earthly frame In agony –– inspires holy zeal Beyond the soul’s capacity to feel Compassion –– Righteous Wrath’s eternal claim. Too late! The future waiting to be born Will in its womb be slashed, then die forlorn.
Mountainous lumpy females draped in black –– Threatening thick black locks massed, hanging loose –– Faces ghastly pale, mouths drooping, slack –– Thick black horn-rimmed spectacles adduce
Morbidity, while dressed in red and navy Silver-headed granddads watch the pair, Who look like they’ve been weaned on greasy gravy –– Thick white flesh eclipsed by savage hair.
How could such sad, ungainly creatures spring From decent-looking, comely elder folk? What craftily demonic, beastly thing Could make of these sad females a cruel joke?
Indulged, unchallenged children don’t mature. Instead, they vegetate, rot, become manure.
Who could say what motivates the Mob? Immodestly I say it isn’t I. The preference seems to be for those who rob Hope from those who still would like to try Elevation over Desecration –– Repair and not despair at what we dread. It seems the Mob prefers alienation –– Not Healing –– only Enmity instead. Grumbling is easier than building Submitting to the impulse to surrender Captures for the League of Fakers gilding Offal –– yet another sad Pretender. Responding to the instinct to stampede Never made the Tides of Fear recede.
Devoid they are of content ____ or of substance. Skeletons softening ____ barely supporting overripe flesh –– __________ flaccid –– just this side of putrid. The puffy, seamed, sour faces ____ under preposterous clouds __________ of dyed, home-permanented hair Granny glasses wiggling _____ winking as they reflect __________ the cold fluorescent light Above narrow, permanently pouting _____ rat trap mouths __________ processing pushed in food _______________ spewing shrill whiny blasts ____________________ of dreary prognostication ___________________________ and endless admonition
Bloated bosoms, flabby arms _____ endless chins, ankles thick __________ with knotted veins All bedecked indifferently _____ with colors and patterns __________ calculated to clash –– fatally –– _______________ with the grotesque shapes ____________________ they vainly seek to cover.
And the men –– _____ small, silent, cowed, __________ beaten, hopelessly trapped Who listen and listen and listen _____ not hearing, numb, __________ heads bowed, _______________ quietly waiting –– ____________________ waiting –– waiting
_____________ II _____________
The young –– sullen –– indifferent –– _____ sex and cellphones __________ all that occupy their minds –– And at bottom a vague unknown __________ nameless dread –– Hair lank, uncut, unwashed _____ falls sans calculation __________ no smiles, no tears _______________ no winks, no nods Just those downcast eyes _____ and sullen, unfocused stares
The boyfriends sit _____ grim, tight-lipped, sullen __________ oddly hostile _______________ no animation, ____________________ no communication
Sometimes, the girls chatter tonelessly _____ nervous, reflexive, meaningless __________ yet somehow always about _______________ their empty-headed, mouthy little selves
Meanwhile, he texts, or grunts into his cellphone _____ staring at the ceiling or –– unseeing –– __________ across the room
The cellphone is his anchor _____ the center of what-passes-for his life __________ She is there only for him to fuck _______________ whenever the urge arises.
Meanwhile, the fat, frizzy-headed females _____ refresh the lipstick __________ on their shrill, sunken mouths _______________ mindlessly spewing –– ____________________ a perfect prophecy _________________________ of Things ______________________________ to Come.
In my never humble opinion DEPRESSION –– especially the desire to infect others with Depression –– is rooted in EXTREME SELF-DENTEREDNESS and the lack of any natural human warmth that would motivate one suffering soul to reach out to another with the desire to ALLEVIATE suffering, and AID others in exploring ways to avoid it.
The determined practice of Altruism [No one wants to claim it comes naturally ;-] rarely fails to lift one's Spirit above the wretchedness born of Self-Pity and unbridled Resentment.
What is it about both the Irish and the Jews that makes them captious, eternally angry, dejected, hyper-critical of others, and markedly ungrateful for the great opportunities God accords everyone who can summon up the will to embrace Life on Life's terms?
Just as no one can eat your dinner for you, it is up to you –– and each of us –– to make the most of whatever opportunities –– great or small –– Fate has granted us.
The world will never drop everything and run to anyone's side to cosset, comfort and pamper. We must learn to give that to others while never expecting or even daring to hope for any such thing in return for ourselves.
"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you're thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."
What is it about both the Irish and the Jews that makes them captious, eternally angry, dejected, hyper-critical of others, and markedly ungrateful for the great opportunities God accords everyone who can summon up the will to embrace Life on Life's terms? ------------
I hear that this play about four Dubliners is VERY LIFE AFFIRMING, FT. http://www.undermain.org/season-tickets/the-night-alive/ You might enjoy it.
The IRISH are "hyper-critical of others"??? Hmmm...
I read "Dubliners", but only got halfway through "Portrait of a Young Artist" myself. I'm not a big Joyce fan, myself. But for his "subject matter", he's a very good writer. I prefer heroic, to crass, epiphanies.
ReplyDelete____________ MUSICAL TOILETS ____________
Mistaken notions in the world abound --
Unheard of at the time when I was born.
Surrounded –– soaked –– in crass, unwanted sound
I’m buried –– suffocated –– and forlorn.
Consciousness invaded by loud static ––
Ambushed –– conquered –– isolated –– snuffed ––
Languishes while Coarseness brays ecstatic.
The mind can’t thrive when with distractions stuffed ––
Over-filled –– with poisonous temptations
Instigating sullenness engaged
In assertive –– mulish –– non-participation
Erupting just when pointlessly enraged.
The times have changed; they have become deranged.
Silence, from our world’s become estranged.
~ FreeThinke
___________ OUR DEBT THREATS ___________
ReplyDeleteO, Christ, why can’t we hear it through the din?
Under what extreme conditions might we learn?
Rape invited’s wicked, though we’re in
Denial that our fate we richly earn.
Everyone must someday realize
Beating life can’t be. We’re bound to crash.
The Law of Averages whittles down to size.
The brightness of Ascent soon feels the lash
Held by hidden Masters of Deceit ––
Rapacious, ruthless, fearful and despotic ––
Each a perfect model of conceit ––
A joyless soul, pathetic and neurotic.
To be at the beck and call of godless knaves
Strengthens faith that none but Jesus saves.
~ FreeThinke
___________ SCHOOL GUERILLA ___________
ReplyDeleteSchools now function more as killing fields.
Careless parents –– cultural decay ––
Hopeless lack of leadership that yields
Only cowardice sure to delay
Overcoming suicidal urges ––
Leading always first to homicide ––
Gives vent to pious hypocrites’ dull dirges ––
Useless noises no one should abide.
Evil flourishes among the lazy.
Recalcitrance must be forever fought.
Indolence and insolence make crazy
Losers. When inadequately taught ––
Legions –– long conditioned to lay blame
Away from Self –– have made our world grow lame.
~ FreeThinke
_________ SEEN at the WINDOW _________
ReplyDeleteGo quickly to the window; take a look.
Outside on the horizon past the lawn
An army gathers set to move at dawn.
From their demonic, sacred Holy Book
Authority for their campaign is drawn
To compensate for old affronts. Their aim
Provides excuse to loot, destroy and maim
Innocent descendants whose heads sawn ––
Slowly, severed from their earthly frame
In agony –– inspires holy zeal
Beyond the soul’s capacity to feel
Compassion –– Righteous Wrath’s eternal claim.
Too late! The future waiting to be born
Will in its womb be slashed, then die forlorn.
~ FreeThinke
___________ HARBINGERS of DOOM ____________
ReplyDeleteMountainous lumpy females draped in black ––
Threatening thick black locks massed, hanging loose ––
Faces ghastly pale, mouths drooping, slack ––
Thick black horn-rimmed spectacles adduce
Morbidity, while dressed in red and navy
Silver-headed granddads watch the pair,
Who look like they’ve been weaned on greasy gravy ––
Thick white flesh eclipsed by savage hair.
How could such sad, ungainly creatures spring
From decent-looking, comely elder folk?
What craftily demonic, beastly thing
Could make of these sad females a cruel joke?
Indulged, unchallenged children don’t mature.
Instead, they vegetate, rot, become manure.
~ FreeThinke
___________ WITHERING SCORN ___________
ReplyDeleteWho could say what motivates the Mob?
Immodestly I say it isn’t I.
The preference seems to be for those who rob
Hope from those who still would like to try
Elevation over Desecration ––
Repair and not despair at what we dread.
It seems the Mob prefers alienation ––
Not Healing –– only Enmity instead.
Grumbling is easier than building
Submitting to the impulse to surrender
Captures for the League of Fakers gilding
Offal –– yet another sad Pretender.
Responding to the instinct to stampede
Never made the Tides of Fear recede.
~ FreeThinke
_____ THE WAITING ROOM _____
ReplyDelete_______________ I ______________
Devoid they are of content
____ or of substance.
Skeletons softening
____ barely supporting overripe flesh ––
__________ flaccid –– just this side of putrid.
The puffy, seamed, sour faces
____ under preposterous clouds
__________ of dyed, home-permanented hair
Granny glasses wiggling
_____ winking as they reflect
__________ the cold fluorescent light
Above narrow, permanently pouting
_____ rat trap mouths
__________ processing pushed in food
_______________ spewing shrill whiny blasts
____________________ of dreary prognostication
___________________________ and endless admonition
Bloated bosoms, flabby arms
_____ endless chins, ankles thick
__________ with knotted veins
All bedecked indifferently
_____ with colors and patterns
__________ calculated to clash –– fatally ––
_______________ with the grotesque shapes
____________________ they vainly seek to cover.
And the men ––
_____ small, silent, cowed,
__________ beaten, hopelessly trapped
Who listen and listen and listen
_____ not hearing, numb,
__________ heads bowed,
_______________ quietly waiting ––
____________________ waiting –– waiting
_____________ II _____________
The young –– sullen –– indifferent ––
_____ sex and cellphones
__________ all that occupy their minds ––
And at bottom a vague unknown
__________ nameless dread ––
Hair lank, uncut, unwashed
_____ falls sans calculation
__________ no smiles, no tears
_______________ no winks, no nods
Just those downcast eyes
_____ and sullen, unfocused stares
The boyfriends sit
_____ grim, tight-lipped, sullen
__________ oddly hostile
_______________ no animation,
____________________ no communication
Sometimes, the girls chatter tonelessly
_____ nervous, reflexive, meaningless
__________ yet somehow always about
_______________ their empty-headed, mouthy little selves
Meanwhile, he texts, or grunts into his cellphone
_____ staring at the ceiling or –– unseeing ––
__________ across the room
The cellphone is his anchor
_____ the center of what-passes-for his life
__________ She is there only for him to fuck
_______________ whenever the urge arises.
Meanwhile, the fat, frizzy-headed females
_____ refresh the lipstick
__________ on their shrill, sunken mouths
_______________ mindlessly spewing ––
____________________ a perfect prophecy
_________________________ of Things
______________________________ to Come.
~ FreeThinke
In my never humble opinion DEPRESSION –– especially the desire to infect others with Depression –– is rooted in EXTREME SELF-DENTEREDNESS and the lack of any natural human warmth that would motivate one suffering soul to reach out to another with the desire to ALLEVIATE suffering, and AID others in exploring ways to avoid it.
ReplyDeleteThe determined practice of Altruism [No one wants to claim it comes naturally ;-] rarely fails to lift one's Spirit above the wretchedness born of Self-Pity and unbridled Resentment.
What is it about both the Irish and the Jews that makes them captious, eternally angry, dejected, hyper-critical of others, and markedly ungrateful for the great opportunities God accords everyone who can summon up the will to embrace Life on Life's terms?
The general smallness of their daily lives?
ReplyDeleteGreat stuff, btw, if not a bit depressing. ;)
Just as no one can eat your dinner for you, it is up to you –– and each of us –– to make the most of whatever opportunities –– great or small –– Fate has granted us.
ReplyDeleteThe world will never drop everything and run to anyone's side to cosset, comfort and pamper. We must learn to give that to others while never expecting or even daring to hope for any such thing in return for ourselves.
"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you're thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."
~ G. B. Shaw (1856-1950)
That is our only hope for fulfillment.
What is it about both the Irish and the Jews that makes them captious, eternally angry, dejected, hyper-critical of others, and markedly ungrateful for the great opportunities God accords everyone who can summon up the will to embrace Life on Life's terms?
ReplyDelete------------
I hear that this play about four Dubliners is VERY LIFE AFFIRMING, FT.
http://www.undermain.org/season-tickets/the-night-alive/
You might enjoy it.
The IRISH are "hyper-critical of others"??? Hmmm...
Beckett was also experimenting with minimalism. He'd been a researcher for James Joyce, and decided to move in the opposite direction.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI read "Dubliners", but only got halfway through "Portrait of a Young Artist" myself. I'm not a big Joyce fan, myself. But for his "subject matter", he's a very good writer. I prefer heroic, to crass, epiphanies.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete