August 18, 2002

  • Well, I gave them all their best shot.  But, damn it, as I visit the cemetery this afternoon (my you-had-your-chance-and-now-its-mine sanctuary), it is confirmed: I am still above ground.  Strange, courageous, and bold.   So really, I’m sorry buds, but it’s no more Mr. Niceguy.  I intend to stay above the ground for a good long while now.  Drinking, stomping, pissing, writing, musing, and imagining great romance.  You all had the chance to put me down.  I was susceptible, pliable, and directably weak.  How laughable.  Says the poet: “Wipe your hands across your face and laugh.”   I prefer to swipe my hand and hoot.  Dang me.  You all should have took a rope and hanged me.  But now I’ve cut down the highest tree.  Yep, it was a dope tree and was that motherfucker high.  Cutting the dope, in fact, took all damn afternoon. 


    *sets laptop down and enjoys a beer while sweepingly taking in the panorama*




    What is the dusk, I ask you, what is the dusk?


    *as an itsy-bitsy cemetery spider creeps in and out amongst the keys on my keyboard.  damn, I shouldn’t have set the laptop in the grass while I was drinking that beer*



    dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn
    I wonder why I’m thusly drawn.
    crisply carved the steeled stone
    signifying latent bone.
    wedding of the earth and dearth
    grief for all, for all it’s worth.
    gather now the mourning few
    weeping tears as clear as dew.
    while I lounge and drink my beer
    knowing life can hold no fear
    of something so immutable:
    fate’s simply not disputable.


    Ok, this spider has taken up residence in my laptop keyboard.  What do you feed spiders?  Do I need to go out and maim ants and drop them between the keys for the spider to eat?  Spider food.  I need spider food.  Give me spider food!


    Oh, I just caught myself whistling a tune that sounds a couple of hundred years old.  Now, I’m rarely good at impromptu composing, and this tune was highly polished.  So I guess someone here in the cemetery about still wants to jangle to the music.  Taint nothing as innocently sweet as being a happy medium for a celebrating soul.  Rollover Beethoven!  And blog Tchaikovsky the news!

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