Words fall and scatter, rolling away like marbles. She looks, speechless. Life kicks within her crying to be let out. Gently she holds her stomach and whispers “Hush my baby, daddy will come home soon”, as she watches him walk away. Godspeed she shouts out in a voice breaking with sorrow.
He is gone carrying a gun to kill people in another land.
Now she lies legs apart screaming like a banshee in an antiseptic room with masked people around gently coaxing her, “Push, Push”. Suddenly there is a cry…”it’s a boy”.
On the other side of the world he lays face down in the bright lights of hatred and violence, his hands searching for his legs that lie somewhere else in the desert sand.
You twist, you turn, put your head under the pillow, shove it out of the window and yet that thing in the deep recesses of your mind remains embedded for a life time – a beautiful memory which can never be relived. First day, first show and that’s it. No second chance. The memory is framed with hope. It is all that remains of the day, a moment forever in eternity.
My mama said not to look back in pain, anger or joy. Never to look back. To look forward. To walk towards the ever shifting horizon. To let it be. Like the friends and lovers who have come and gone leaving residues of emotions like scattered crumbs of a baguette on a clean white table cloth, forming a symmetry of forgotten dreams.
The rainbow of thoughts floats through space nurtured by wishes. My head turns to the cerulean sky as the images dissolve into shadows of the night. I stand by the roadside watching the stars.
My mama said that a beautiful memory could never be relived.
But she never told me that I would have to carry it alone.
There comes a time in one’s life to ask the question…
Who am I really?
And what am I doing to make this world just a little bit safer, happier and wonderful?.
This is my predicament today.
I cannot answer this question.
– April 27, 2012
He has been travelling for nearly seven years now ruminating on and capturing the word and the embedded subtle nuances of a life, a life free of credit cards, bank accounts and the odd financial rigmarole…a comforting disconnection from the ebb and flow of the daily grind.
Everything seemed and appeared to be in sync until he met a woman who stole his heart, ran away and then ran over it with disinterest. Nothing in his fragile life could deal with such an accident and hence death came knocking with the grim reaper grinning like a Cheshire cat.
What is to be done?
What is to be achieved?
What is to be left for those that thrive on delusion?
But a word, a gesture to be remembered and a sepia print of days gone by.
Goodbye is such a beautiful word…it encompasses everything…
We live a temporary existence.
Aping and aspiring to all that we admire
In the never ending stream of daydreams, intoxica, erotica and hysteria.
Esoteria being the spice that makes living palatable.
All this is blended in a medium of perceived or warped reality.
We live on spaceship Earth, hurtling through Time.
Our lives are not even a blip on the Universal screen.
Yet we assume we know the purpose of our existence and Will of our God.
Nothing belongs to us.
Not even our souls.
So why do we bother killing each other for our Faith?
When this temporary existence
ends in the vortex of the Universal Refuse Bin.
The pill – a miracle for the prosaic – an exit to Disneyland,
a short trip then boredom sets in, the sign of satisfied ignorance.
Ordinary people are beautiful.
Ordinariness an ongoing catharsis self implanted in the cerebral cortex of those sterile of imagination and spirit. Benign bovines ruminating at a garbage dump somewhere where civic sense is absent out of choice.
What is the correct dosage for castrated government officials and petulant politicians? 2 pills a day to be taken with sufficient delusions so that the molecules work to invigorate and perpetuate aggrandizement through the unique process of corruption, which in turn creates sycophancy, the genuflection before false gods.
For the dispensers of medicare, 4 pills a day, the minimum dose to inculcate a sense of proportion to influence the absurd levels of fees that should be charged to those bovines susceptible to illnesses.
The teachers that promote education by forcing children to carry books (nearly their own weight) to school and back everyday – 10 pills not to be taken orally but inserted in the prime area where the sun doesn’t shine.
Married folk – 12 pills each to be swallowed whole during verbal intercourse so as to prevent them from fighting over the TV remote.
For those partial to the same sex, no dose applicable.
Others who live unconscious lives intentionally, 14 pills per day i.e. 7 orally and 7 inserted.
Creative folk including those that vandalize public property – a placebo to be swallowed whole through a straw while lying horizontal.
For tobacco/caffeine addicts – no dose as it may promote implosion of their pulsating extremities.
For self appointed religious retards and other cultural contraptions – 5 pills to be ground in holy water and gently applied all over the gray cells to enhance concept of free will and other related concepts.
A glass of Spanish or Chardonnay is often the recourse for genteel folk to retreat into the Serengeti of imagination; flickering colors and shapes like images in a kaleidoscope being viewed by a Schizophrenic.
As the body and mind merges into one warm wholesome being, thoughts of unabashed emotions slowly creep up and empower the inducer to become fleet footed of mind and senses – words and actions become synonymous with the free flow of life – no barriers just the great wide yonder beckoning like a bitch in heat.
In the inebriated nuances of wine and poses, the murmuring releases the bonds of perceived sanity and all is let loose upon the senses.
Many have succumbed to the seductions of wine. It’s bouquet, its aroma and its taste…a concerto conniving insidiously with the prosaic and the exotic to ignite sensory perceptions on the untraveled path to a world of the uninitiated.
Ask a Christian, they will tell you what it means to drink the blood of Christ.
It is horrifying to witness a father bury his son.
The women wailing.
Relations, family, friends and onlookers watching a passing away of a youngman – shot dead in a moment. Nature or is it God that guides our sudden surges of hatred? The urge to kill…the careful planning and execution of a hit…blood money changing hands…life expectancy decided by revenge.
Life for a life.
Today one confronted this and more.
What can I say to C that will bring his son back?
Merely folded hands, platitudes and the sharing of his sense of loss.
As a father I feel his grief.
As a father I too carry the burden of a society that one is an integral part of – skewered notions of right and wrong coated with an insidious layer of ‘wants’ / ‘needs’ seducing souls; And overseen by the Grim Reaper.
To the departed son of C all one can say in this tragic parting is this…
There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.
When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now The child is grown,
The dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb. – Pink Floyd,Comfortably Numb (Gilmour, Waters)