Archive for January, 2017

Do you remember when the exception

became the rule?

An exact moment,

a sliding scale?

Life’s progression,

travesty and pain,

your enthusiasm wanes

matures: disdain.

Child-like excitement,

excess, indulgence…

Joie de vivre…

Becomes adult depression,

frustration,

repression;

with information,

realization,

and mortification.

Alas,

some sunsets

are not worth watching.

 

©ddr7hd

 

He told me I needed to think like a man,

if I wanted to be a success in this world.

And then he said goodbye.

I watched him go into the men’s toilets

and I imagined that he would probably wash his hands after touching the door, before he would touch his dick, to piss into the urinal. And then he would walk out, opening the door, without washing his hands because everyone else should feel honored to touch something that his hand, which has touched his dick, has touched in turn. And then he would deliberately wipe his hands on the back on his pants before walking on, purposefully, into the bowels of the complex.

Mr. Boss.

 

©ddr7hd

 

And I wondered what if…

Samantha Smith hadn’t died.

The child superstar no one seems to remember…

Wise,

with spunk,

she changed lives.

And while many mourn Hillary’s demise,

I wonder what if Samantha Smith had become

President of the USA.

Who she was and would have been, today.

And how much better the world would be.

But,

alas…

In “reality”,

sadly, very sadly,

I imagine the system would have molded

and stymied her into

another pathetic,

grasping,

power-maximizing,

political drone.

Disenchanted,

once again,

I curl into the foetal position

on my pathetically anemic,

uncomfortable

bed.

Reality is hard.

I wish for sleep,

alternative

actuality.

 

©ddr7hd

 

A little before they put me away,

in a cell,

beyond time and place,

Donald Trump had been elected “leader of the free world”.

Leader of the Free World?

Frankly, who won the election is not my focus,

it’s the very statement: “Leader of the Free World”.

Indeed.

I simper, deliberately,

as,

grandiosely, that’s what Americans

(and many others from deferential nations)

call Mr. President.

My,

oh my,

why,

such hubris!

Such arrogance!

Really,

such use of words,

intent and content,

is absurd.

Yes,

indeed,

that’s the word!

Welcome to the life on Planet Earth,

everyday theater of the absurd.

 

©ddr7hd

 

Hitler said that if you wanted a certain job done

you had to get the Latvians involved.

He spoke (it’s recorded)

in condescending tones

about how they would do the things

no one else could do,

implying the Latvians were scum,

more or less,

from an obvious analysis.

But really, with wisdom applied,

between the printed lines,

it’s apparent,

Hitler feared the Latvians.

…FEARED!

And now, we forget…

Decadent deference,

histories swallowed,

and lost dichotomies of self-defence.

©ddr7hd

What Beauty?

At the end of the day,

it’s like,

well, that’s that,

and was there any point?

Frustrated, violated,

implicated, complicated…

Screwed over by people

and inanimate objects,

screwed over by societal

and weather systems,

screwed over by life, death,

revolution and resolution,

screwed over by everything,

so it seems,

night and day,

no end.

Catch your breath, if you can,

before it is gone forever.

Sigh.

Yawn.

Scorn.

Wishing others unborn.

Disenchanted,

the giant seeks solace in sleep.

©ddr7hd

 

Please, I want beauty,

in my visual range, perchance,

rise above horrors.

 

Happy 14th of January!

So they tell me.

Really?

I feel so matter-of-fact about it.

What does it mean?

I think, therefore I am…

I think… I am entering into

a beautiful new realm of increased detachment.

Freedom, in captive surrounds.

Ho-hum,

sigh,

societal construct,

time,

captivity.

I say, revoke and repudiate

such negativity.

Wish upon a star in an unseen sky,

and be free.

 

What does declaring oneself Avant-Garde mean?

Why, anything I want it to be.

And that may well mean something different

tomorrow from today,

or yesterday,

indeed,

and at times I will deny my membership

of your Avant-Garde clique…

Your definition,

your society,

I will flea.

As, alas…

Your boundaries, restrictions and machines,

your timelines and agendas,

mar the eternal possible beauty of the human soul and being.

Like, peace.

Perchance to breathe

and be still.

Still, nonetheless,

I have been and will continue to be,

Avant-Garde,

in my own, unique, forward way,

whether you see it, or not.

Cliché:

I march to the beat of my own drummer…

Ipso facto,

I am Avant-Garde epitome.

 

And…

Amidst the confusion,

society’s shrill voices,

myriad dictated choices,

realize…

the power of “I don’t know”,

and “I don’t need to know”.

But *this* I do know,

a personal revolation,

Sofia in my ear,

am I compelled to share?

No.

And, so…

But, for your benefit, I will say:

Selah.

Pray and embrace,

the power of detachment.