ST118 ... the space between the bricks.... 'Tusovka'
i am someone else, somewhere else...
I have been sitting here most of the day, watching. It's a big wall. There are so many. Tight ones, fragile, solid, natural, tainted, broken, poisonous… you name it, it's been made, unmade, done and more on the way. Why people do what they do is beyond me? So many all seem to have a purpose. Something to get done, before they live, before they die. Give us our day, our daily dose of big pharma ag media poison. Homeless genius gets award for cheap living. Leased bodies with tender meat and desperate brains for entertainment. Trophy titles for new slick books on digital design displays.
I've had it. I can't do this anymore. I'm moving into a new mind. The nonsense is driving mad down one way roads and executives are trading brain cells in local markets. The world is magnetized for one direction. Unity is not for us. Zombiology in the local labs fight disease. The headlines are straight and tangled. The news is not good.
I wandered out amongst the filth and stood there watching while my family was beaten to the core, my friends caught in genetic grinders, society buying and selling invisible packets of secret agendas for love. I met a woman with a red dress. She wanted my mind, threw my heart in a ditch, told me she loved me then left. Back on the street i caught a subway to the end of the line. Here i am. What next.
The forest disappeared. Cobble stone roads everywhere. Ancient walls and long words falling over vacant dreams. Keep walking.
a day down the road
Damian was a man of respect, for all things. He had that nature, he would find the best in any situation. I was not like him. I am not a lonely man but i spend a lot of time alone. I am not all that fond of most conversations; politics, religion, the best vehicles, countries, computers, gadgets. Damian had a way of diverting a conversation into a positive mode no matter what the topic. I don't think he really believed in anything, other than living life, getting the most of every situation, steering it smooth. A remarkable man. I learned how to think properly from observing him…. so i would sometimes think.
Damian would get lost in the moment, find a gem in any trash. I once saw him speak to a little boy whom just lost his father, shot dead in a fast food spot by a hoodlum trigger happy nut case. Grabbed that kid from the blood wasted body of his dad and scolded him, 'your dad needs you, needs you to pray for him, he is leaving here, he needs you' and hugged that kid with every gram of love emanating from his heart.
I don't know if that worked the best but that kid cried to the heavens with a focus i had never seen.
Who is to say? I happened to be in that join. I can't forget that scene, one that will never be erased.
I made that up to make a point. This one i didn't. I was sitting on the front porch waiting for my friend Ted S. to come out one late morning; maybe it was 1960 or thereabouts. I would have been twelve. Stall Ave was a dead end with maybe seven houses on one side in an old neighbourhood. Two houses down was an Ice truck. They delivered ice back in the day for people with non electric refrigerators, an ice box.
I was looking around when i glanced back over towards the truck two houses away — the vehicle was backing up and ran over a small child, maybe two years old, maybe three. Immediately the mother appeared and started screaming; the driver got out totally in fear, awe, guilt ridden, fucked up while the mother picked up the bloody child, cried, yelled, screamed at the scared driver man and the universe.
I remember that, the horror, the mother, crazy with disbelieve, the man in the worst sullen fear I've ever seen. I saw that. That will live within me for as long as, i don't know, forever. The child was dead. That was real, no Damian around.
There is trauma everywhere.
I looked up from this corner bar. One man sitting looking at his phone, the waiter touching his screen, a kid and a mother in the back kitchen both on their cells. This is it, really, the world is attached, linked, connected…. perspective, perception… they got the world, from the back hills of africa to the city centers of america, france… you name it… star link is not heavenly.
I could die a drunk. I can feel it. I am done with this game. Where is Damian?
Una mas cerveza por favor
The music is low. A concert in the centre. I'm in this corner bar feeling rather sombre. I had been here once before a few years back with a writer attending a workshop here. I have never been the type to attend workshops, lessons or any other type of classes to learn what i figure you can learn on your own and not be tainted by the educator. That was not always the best attitude, i know. I am too old to adjust myself now and i don't care. Most aspirations of 'making it' have lost their charm.
I am amused at the quantity of tourists wandering, wondering, enjoying, listening. It's very good jazz, a half a block away, loud. SMA is giving the next week of free jazz in the square. I am the only one in this corner bar. I am writing. Making stuff up. Telling the truth, telling lies. I am a writer. I write. Why? I don't care. They call that passion. I suppose. If i didn't write i'd have to talk to someone. I would have little to say to anyone, from this angle. Maybe Dylan, if i found him in the right mood… Jesus, Geronimo, Dostoyevski.. yea someone like that. But really, a pretty woman with heart and mind, a lady of the night, that's been around, seen it all. They can be worth the time, worth the effort.
I started calling this blog, 'pointless writing' because it is. It may have one think about things in a different way, a fresh, a dark angle, a real perspective, but ultimately pointless. I am so sick of all these intricate fancy stories to entice one into their web for some unfounded ending that means absolutely nothing, pointless, but attempts to convince you of some pure definite overall astonishing explosive revelation forever…….. no, it's all bullshit…. but that’s ok with me.
Where is Damian when i need him? I'm going down, the tunnel is just ahead. There is no truth forever that i can know forever. I have to change. I have to move. I have to find…. what, what?
Its's time to leave. Two beers and i can feel the alcohol soothe my inner being. Human kind, of all kinds, a few more years and this will all be gone, no legacy, who cares, really. People can't get it together when they are alive and they expect some grandchild or off shoot of their race or whatever to expand their great achievements…what a joke….but hey, that's the way it is. That is what civilization is all about..meaningless in the timeless eons of this universe, multi-verse, poetic verse, scriptures, what-have-you…..great moments, devastating moments, fantastic times, ecstatic seconds…. we’ve had them all.
…fragments of a memoir.
As long as i can be conscious i will not, can not believe. Tonight i would like to die, not exist, be beyond myself…. but it is what it is, and walk on i will. There are many moments, many thoughts, they all die……. when you know that, thought is limited, all belief is dead or dying, you walk away from yourself, you move, fall, adventure into the unknown with a will to be, it is as simple as that……you, we are as great as the gods, we are made of god, light, knowing, eternity…… probably, more than likely, almost for sure….whatever, just keep walking.
We learn to fall, get up, dive in, avoid, be gentle, attack, smile, frown, live and die. Thought is the tool and we are the construction workers, very few of us could be considered architects and ultimately they mess it all up….so possibly by thinking less we might know more. ‘sometimes i think there are no words but these to say which are true, but there are no truths outside the gates of eden’ Dylan 65
The healthy ego is our sense of who we are, serving as a bridge to the inner world. “The trickster is the ego demolitions expert who helps us become more realistic about our psychological limitations and ultimately our spiritual limitlessness. This is an energy within ourselves and within the universe that humbles us, topples our ego, upsets our plans, demonstrates to us how little our wishes matter, and dissolves the forms that no longer serve us though we may be clinging to them for dear life.” Dave Richo, The Power of Coincidence
Note:
Weyword Times is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support this work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
A OneTime Contribution coffee !
I appreciate your readership! I do. This is my way of caressing thought. If you are amused/inspired reading these words and eyeing my images, please support my work, pass it on, comment.
I thank you.
Buy An Image for your Wall….
Pass On The WeyWord Times / Writing and Images by Patrick Wey
