Tag Archives: pain

angry tie

I thread my body in hot dissonance –

the angry pinks leap out from an ecru field,

lashing out to assault the eye,

to offend the inferred harmonies

swelling in a sea of pretense

around my open scowl.

 

It is my mood,

fey and callous

that accents the palate –

a dark stain on the white fabric,

a sore-thumb crack in an over-sized button.

I lick my lips to whet the daggers of my eyes,

lit with smoldering rage,

the tiny figure hurling insults as monolithic giants,

futility in a storm,

eroded in a blink.

 

all that I see is frustration,

consumption,

and waste.

 

all that I know is disgust.

 

11/6/14


a slight departure

Somewhere between ten and two, I decided that a bowl of sliced cucumbers did not, in fact, make for a good dessert.  Even with Himalayan salt, and even after a fistful of double gins on the rocks,  the crunchy greens left me wanting, waiting for more.

Today was rough.  A rough finish to a stressful few days.  Sunday burned by as we tore through Milledgeville and Sparta on our way to Macon.  The ugly arid palms of the Carolinas rolled away to the inviting turf of Georgia, but the hours oozed by – an uncomfortably slow drain.  Night saw us sweltering from the rental to the hotel lobby, 89 degrees of moist discomfort.  I passed out quickly after a few words home on a busted cell phone – lousy VOIP with a shitty mobile.  Anyways, it’s always good to hear the voices of home.

Monday was a waste.  We pissed away the morning pretending not to be terrorists as we scoped out the base.  We picked a few pairs of garbage-made steel toes from Wally World, then headed over to ‘Bucks to review some slides and partake of overpriced hippy swill.  I was not nervous.  This wasn’t my bag.  I was there for the money, and they had already handed that over.  I was here just to manage expectations.  Dr. Gray was bandaging Physics, not promising solutions.  They already had their solutions.  I told them how it would work.  I’d spill the details that might sweeten the pot, a little.

We slid through security on a smile and a few coverups of anger.  We weren’t there to hear the civilians gossip about local fast food.  I didn’t want to know about Landia’s baby, nor about Dix’s skipping out without a text.  Give me the fucking badge, and let me on my way.’

We had been told parking would be a bitch.  “Good Luck and God Bless” was how they put it.  But, at 11 am, we rolled into an unmarked spot a few yards from the building.  We were too early.  Thirty minutes too early.  We waited in the air conditioned car for half an hour.  That damned Georgia sun was cooking the air to a boil.  I could smell the humidity through the car windows.

Fuck it.  It was time.  It was close enough to time.  We bolted from the car armed to the teeth with a laptop, a rotting quad-ruled notebook, and two minds full of unrivaled cunning.  Nothing could stand in our way now.  We weren’t looking to take prisoners – we were negotiating our victory.

The building was horrid Air Force brick.  Landscaping was dry – all stemmy bushes atop hard back, baked sand.  Toss in a few vines that grew too high on the building facade, and bingo – Robins Air Force base.  We sat on a pair of mildewed benches.  I didn’t have on a tie, and so I didn’t mind the sweating.  Well, not as much as with a tie anyways.

11:45.  We call.  No answer.  Leave a message.  Wait.  No answer.  Fuck it.  It’s hot.  Let’s go in.

We go in.  It’s all cube-farms and blue uniforms.  Toss in a few clean-cut civvies now and again.  No one seems to notice us.  No one wants to answer us.  Dr. Gray is insulted.  At this point, their words have become moot.  I have changed my tune, and am not at all interested in appeasement.  This venture has now become a tax on my time – I will be looking for someone to punish.

All in all, things went well.  I learned something.  Someone called me Dr. Gray, and asked a loaded question.  I missed the bait, swallowed the hook, and buried the questioner in science and logic.  Marley bailed me out.  He tossed the poor bastard a bone, nodded to me that an explanation would come later, and shut the fucker down.  That was all finished.

The drive back was too long.  Too many words, too much lecturing.  I don’t really care now, because I can smell the mischief of my girls even from 8 hours out.  I’ve got an itch that only five special women can scratch, and the miles are creeping by.  500.  450.  420.  Damn!

We’re about to crash for the night when Marley drops the bomb.  It’s over.  Our little empire is coming down around me now, and I’ve got Atlas’s burden impending in the morning.  Damn!  That’s a sharp blow on a Monday evening.  It is Monday, right?  Damn!

We hint at drinks.  God knows I need a gin.  I can’t do it.  Not tonight.  Not after that carpet yanking.  I think back to an airline bottle of Beefeater.  I should have packed that in my bag.  Who can afford ten bucks for a rail hit of gin?  Why would you?  Where’s a snifter of Hendricks when you need it?

I call home.  It’s good.  Everything is good.  I’m jut too far away, and pillars keep tumbling around me.  I need to get back to the world, but this jackass has set my mind afire.  Dr. Gray’s ego swells, even as the burdens pile up.  How many hours are in a week?  Is that a law, or am I allowed to bend it?

Fuck it.

Tuesday night.  I eat my chicken.  Raw.  Burned.  It’s fine.  Four ounces of gin, and my veins are aching for some sugar.  We got nothing, and I mean nothing.

So, its a bowl of sliced cucumbers.  Cucumbers with pink Himalayan salt.  But, it’s only cucumbers.  And, everyone knows, cucumbers don’t make for a very good dessert.

.

 

 

I have moved.   Find me at dtdeedge.com


Why must we personify the evil?
Is it simply to remove,
To allow distance between
Our petty selves
And something we see
As broken
Or wrong?
I wonder at this conspiracy,
At its Truth.
I see that darkness in my soul,
Marring the gleam of each facet of that jewel.

I do not think it is a thing external,
But rather an immature hope,
A childish plea
That the darkness is from without,
Rather than due to the consumption
By our broken souls.


Fog

I have lost all perception of time,

boundless I meander.

Poorly-weighted thoughts compete

for attention;

“Am I hungry?”

“Is it raining?”

“Does ‘Now’ include a few moments ago?”

.

I cannot see past the tip of my mind

into what is coming.

Nor am I aware

of what has already been.

I am aware of so very little –

unconscious in a fog of confusion.

.

I do not think I am hungry.


an in between place

I wait in this in between place,

this place that is nowhere.

I wait alone with myself,

with our many selves,

hesitant to commit.

.

Through this mist,

this pervasive sadness that coats my bones,

a lilt of an accent,

bright memories of yesterday –

of dragonflies and of stairways,

we wonder which of us is real,

which of us is to be real.

.

Do I decide?

Is the decision mine

to collapse these infinite possibilities

into a single,

crystalline

reality?

Is the true self decided by fate

by God,

or a foolish boy’s choice?

.

I watch the alternatives crumple

into the hungering fog of impossibility.

.

I stand and wait,

postponing,

in this place of infinite loss.

I cannot reach out,

will not reach out,

for I have lost the desire for direction,

for life or for death.

.

So I stand within this self,

in the midst of this host of possible selves –

the dwindling remains of who we could have been,

would have been,

if not for…

.

There is no collapse,

no singular focus.

We are all illusion,

misperception,

visions to blind children.

.

I am truly thankful for these thoughts,

these inwardly directed thoughts from outside,

these shining lines of hope,

memories,

love.

.

But yet I wait here,

unsure,

and anything but alone.

 

4.24.14


Not now

It is my wish to hurt you,
To hold the corners of your being
That you have tried to hide,
And pull until you are thin,
Aching.

I loathe you,
Your weaknesses,
Shortcomings.
You are not one lesson shy of inadequate,
You are without value,
A stain on the air that I breathe,
A mire in which my shoes are soiled.


Inverse

The inverse side, the inside song.

Your words, the words run like smoke.

Cough!

I held on and once again, burned, I cry to no one.

She held out her hand,

not knowing why,

and I took it,

not knowing why.

A cold wind,

gray and sad,

blows me down and those hands are there,

smiling,

laughing that I fell.

She looks into their eyes and I see a mockery

of all that I have.

I have no more room for sadness.

So, look at these eyes

and understand my goodbye

as eternal.

.

Oct 1998


Bird Song

What is to gain
From voicing aloud these words?
Granting them form in sound
Gains me naught.
.
So I swallow.
I perceive.
But I am loath to speak,
Even here to write these thoughts encoded.
I trust rather to hope,
Though hopeless I deem the pursuit
Of the perfection that could be,
That would be,
Even that should be.
.
So do not take my silence as wisdom,
Nor pensive pauses for time to digest.
I hold my tongue in disgust,
And shame at the separation
Of where we are,
And where we could be.


Beyond the Night

I have lost a day to the distance,

for this place is beyond dreams

and past the night.

All is different here, so very different.

The pride,

the will,

I am torn down in the fire by ideas

I can never understand.

I am a child without a voice,

without right –

pushed and pulled,

swayed to either side by desires around me.

My soul is too different,

my ears a curse.

I can no longer speak –

my opinions melt under the onslaught.

I have a mind,

dreams,

Damn!

I wonder how to return to life,

normal.

.

11/19/01


cracked sky – revisit

I gaze upon the painted sky; it cracks.

I press against the hoar-rimed horizon,

so cold and biting. I strain to see through

but am allowed only a furtive glance;

a peek at another world. Mystery

and shadow – I see my dreams through the crack.

.

I flatten myself against the dome and

struggle to slip through the hole in time, o’er

gossamer borders spun ‘twixt life and dream

as the icy kiss of the bounding wall

warns of edges sharp from fractures honed,

cold claws that reach and rend my mortal flesh.

.

Through action wary, misplaced though it be

I fail to mark the cruel blade sliding

into my belly, piercing through my ribs,

until the point rests just within my heart.

my lifeblood’s warmth over my body spills,

a mask to the glass bite raw, elation.

.

Into my mind through mist of shock-numbed pain,

disbelief of thought, “What has just occurred?

what trick of dream-disguisèd sense is this?”

Though to the earth I drop in pain of wound

aknee across confines of worlds apart

I fall owned, part of each, by neither claimed.

.

My form just short of dreams cast down, I hear

the serenity songs through branch of tree

and peace of moon called forth, “come now to us”

Sweet voices of a thousand birds cry out,

Come fly with us, through mystery unveiled,

panoply vista of sight enchanted.”

.

I make to lift my breaking style, weak now

through loss of blood I retch in painful breath.

from just below my chest strikes out cruel blade

nearly hilts-deep into my belly thrust .

Upon the pommel resting light – a hand,

the trembling mother of this grievous pain.

.

The very form of grace and beauty warm,

How I long to stroke this exquisite hand

To touch and to be touched upon the face,

please let the caress come to end this pain.

Violent sobbing jarring my bladed chest,

through agony forceful, my tears are dried.

.


Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.

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