Life is Heavy
More poetry, and prose
I don't know who I am anymore
said the sweaty bird
who could not fly straight for three days straight
and went home with a tummy ache.
Tried to say "Thy will, not mine, be done"
but started to see public embarrassment
in his inner eye,
and the voices in his head
said the same.
Life is bitter,
went the drudgeries of the sun,
and it is better to be bitter in the stomach
than to be pleasant,
for bitter lasts forever.
Pleasance is an illusion.
The Bible contains many bitter truths,
such as that all is vanity.
Ayuh, all is vanity, and so, what does it matter, if I choose a bitter tummy? Perhaps better. Perhaps pain is freedom, according to Ecclesiastes.
The world spins endless,
and individuals continue to complain.
The same food is eaten,
the same drink is drunk.
The one new thing every day, the really new thing, is death of a different individual.
A fresh death.
And, what is death, after all, but time travel, perhaps, for does not the soul go somewhere, and when someone else dies, that soul may go after it?
What is so super about life? The bitter bird rocked back, and forth, cawing, and scratching its throat, mewling in anger at the ridiculous notions that creatures say "Same old, same old." Then, if it is "same old, same old" to you, then why live? Why not die, and let the rest of creation find a new way?
A fresh life?
There is no life without risk, says the bitter bird, but, who listens.
The bitter bird prefers dusty corner with ancient poetry, containing odd ruins that no one, not even she, understands. And, why is it necessary to? The heat from the strokes is enough to feel something, something. Something that money cannot understand, governments cannot govern, Gods cannot control, and emotions cannot manipulate.
Power is wrapping oneself in steel wool, and having the ability to seize courage, and triumph, at one's own will whenever, no matter what weakness is at hand.
God wants me to die today, in the heat, in this blasted, goddamned humidity.
Maybe Satan too.
Man, for sure. Even when the public is not scoffing at me, they are, and it is not fair, because I just want to be left in solitude, away, my thoughts, and plans, have nothing to do with you. Cast pearls before swine, I always say.
They say to have faith. For what? More control? More rules? More discipline? More slavery? More emotional vulnerability? Yes, yes, I whine, yes, yes, I know. But you whine, too, so point not your finger lest you do not.
The end of the line may say that death is life, and life is death, an unshakeable cycle. There are no needs to explain, for I have already. Yet, with the iPhone, and xBox, ah, well, life is complete, no?
I think I'll chill in this room a bit longer. It's just nice to have the courage to share.
This is life, killing my fear.