We don't know what's eating us anymore but we keep hoping it's only the drugs so we will never have to change. We love change but we do not want to change, we love change as a concept because it finds new ways to entertain us, change changes for us, not us because we're already piehappy here, knowing how this shit finally works, seeing something on the horizon, not just in the weeds all the time we get white russians with cherries and an exquisitely cut orange, making you believe the bartender to be an artist. Which she is.
I feel my hands go numb as I sit down at the cafe to write, I feel I shouldn't be doing this for so many has done it before me but I understand why they did it, why they weren't holed up inside their attics and small apartments, everybody writes about humans everyone everyone writes about are just as anonymous as the man in the faux kashmir coat sits on the outside of a bar, smoking cigarettes, drinking manhattans and espressoes, writing poetry but I know this is just my image because everyone else don't give a shit this early in the day.
Of all feelings, hope is the one you can not depend on. Hope is easily triggered, hope is easily snared and hope does not set food on the table, hope is a castle in the sky, gleaming, hope is our laws, hope is our religions. Faith, something completely different. We would have to be robots to follow the law or we'd have to hope and hope's friend for countless eons have always been fear. We have it today, we hope for the best but fear the worst, when did hope begin to be the number one buzzword in northern american politics and since when did anyone care for hope unless they were in a boggled down war in eastern africa or were one of those who were led into the old killing fields with the cattle, this days killing for sport.
Here is where hope is free, here is where hope is untainted by the intellect, here is where hope lives in its truest form, it is not sleek nor silvery but it is a gut emotion, here it is primordial for here time stopped and we stopped hearing the people come screaming naked out of the trees showing us their thumbs and wanting explanations for what to do with them.
I love that last line
the whole thing, but in particular the screaming thumb showing climax
SEPIA! YOU'RE BACK!
Some guy named Brenschluss was stealing your bit.
Yowza. Been a while since I took the time to read your stuff; it's always worth it. :mittens:
The hopeless dont need hope,
they need mercy killing.
And those with hope...
they dont need hope either,
they need to get their asses to work.
Hope is for those who jackoff on top of an image of their dreams; not those who pursue them.
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 02, 2009, 05:26:26 PM
SEPIA! YOU'RE BACK!
Some guy named Brenschluss was stealing your bit.
THIS.
And: loved this one.
Thanks for the words, the Untitled thingies are an experiment. To see if I can restrain myself enough when both sober and inebriated to write differently than what I've written here earlier which is what I dubbed obits.