First finger, second string, second fret.
Second finger, third string, second fret.A slow strum. One string at a time. A resonating vibration in E minor, bouncing off the sloped ceiling and walls of a bedroom bathed in blue. From the top again, fingers don't move. From first string down to the sixth. The sound goes up, goes down and ends. Absorbed in laundry waiting for time to be washed. Outside the window the tree is white. Winter frosted the world. The ground, three floors down, sparkles even in the shadow of the house. The bed behind me, an island stands in solitude surrounded by a sea of chaos. First finger, fifth string, first fret. Second finger, third string, second fret. Third finger, fourth string, second fret. Strum it again. A minor. Sounds that play, to never hear another ear. Words are sung that don't leave a door, Cracked down the middle. I'm a man, desolated in madness. Perhaps the door can be barricaded, and hold the world at bay. Perhaps I can hide. The only moral to the story called life that I have learned is this: People always leave. A desperate plea, an appeasement to find something good. In the time of my brothers we have seen abuses of power, a revitalization of culture. New forms of internalized discrimination. Addictions are not increasing, they're changing. Gossip no longer takes time to travel while social networking can be done from anywhere via text. Our parents found out about the worlds affairs waiting for the six o'clock news. Something now ready at our fingertips in an instant. Quality of news is coffee tales and gossip, Mr. Journalist scrambles for a headline Tweet: "PRINT MEDIA IS DEAD" In the '90's the ozone layer was depleting, now it's healing. The world's on fire! World on fire! It is getting warmer, low lying lands in danger. Glaciers missing, stolen by an invisible hot stranger. Good-bye Churchill, Good-bye home? It's low enough, we'll see. Plastic or paper? Do I miss free options? At 10 cents a bag, maybe I do. Reuse for a two cent reduction in the cost of fears, at least when a boat goes down main street I can shrug: "It's not my fault, I reused." Barricade my bedroom door, I'm not leaving for sure! For sure, for sure. Blood used to be the ultimate price. Now blood, is cheap and inconsistent. Your clean blood cannot be used to save a life because you slept with someone of the same sex. Sorry! Retraction! Only if you slept with a man who slept with another man, or are a man who slept with another man. Men can marry men, and women can marry women. Sick sin! Sick and Sin! Yet headlines told us that Latorneau slept with her younger male student, who is the sick one? "Oh my how times have changed" sings out Pfeiffer. Run along fat child. String up the pop corn and cookie cutter children. When will we be able to listen and allow children to talk? When will we find a cure for the suicide epidemic? Forever stuck running to a bottle or a pill. Listen to the pharmacist, pharmacists are good. Taxation and regulation make drugs good. Shall we salute the Robin Hood's of our time? Say no because they're drugging our children as much as the adults. "Think of the children!" Screams Mrs. Lovejoy. Point out the dealers and fiends only if they aren't your friends or family. In the wilds of home family still means something. No one takes death home out here anymore. "Polish the funeral parlor floors, we have a 3:15 booking." The lingo of mainstream mannequins are now in our heads. Count your calories and split a diet coke. Does anyone remember LOL? The Little Old Lady is now Laughing Out Loud. Madness can continue, neighbors remain faceless. When the murder is done and the reporters are knocking down the doors, cracking them down their middles, they can only say: "He was so quiet." The truth be told in the subtitles: "I didn't know him at all." To the punch of a mad mans rambling, coming up on the news at 5, 6 and 11! In 95 years my great grandmother saw the world at war, twice. Still here I am descendant of a marriage arranged. Unable to fathom having someone chosen for me to marry. First finger, second string, second fret. Second finger, third string, second fret. Execute a quick strum on all strings, six notes ring out for a harmonious chord in E minor. Voices open to an imprecise language being told what to think, some ability lost to the masses. Have we lost the ability to perceive the truth? Burn a Qu'ran and prove that ignorance still hurts. There must be a cure for the human epidemic. To save us from ourselves. Tell me a story, please world, to calm my fears. Can anyone remember the trio of infinitesimal swine? Surely not the bovine that forcefully elevated itself over Earths satellite. Blue bedroom walls, ease my anxiety. Hold me in place. Madness I say. Madness! A mouth that does not know the Native tongue can still bid you adieu. Bonsoir monseur! Arrivaderci! Scuse! Bonjourno! Bonjourno! Senore Signora! Welcome back to my humble abode!
1 Comment
~K~
1/16/2011 01:33:13 am
Kris Loves this
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Jack BeaverhausenI am a contradiction! An artist with eclectic taste and blunt honesty! Archives
February 2011
Categories
All
|