Posted by marko on 11/7/2006, 12:16 pm, in reply to "letter to a stranger (1-5)" i believe there are 275 million, give or take a million, on but there’s truth somewhere. no matter how maddening, how there are as many gospels as there are humans hulking round i can delve into the densely abstract, yet wouldn’t know where i take a single step & cry out in pain. i back up another & i learned to think faster than my words. i was forced into am i any different than millions of others in this respect?
65.167.39.226
6.
i feel cut off from most of humanity. but i’m no pseudo-
avenging angel. i’m a demonic glare intimidating anyone
who gets too close. i’m confused & bitter. a strange combination
i suppose.
7.
what does certainty feel like? i’d like to know before i die.
i’ve had to construct my own mythology to compensate for
a lack of solid evidence. names & dates & belonging.
this thick-bordered land mass where i happened to spring
forth. though it could have been anywhere. though it had
to be here—depending on your religious affiliation. i think
there are seven billion within the entire circle. some holding
hands. some murdering one another. some think they have
all the answers. some have a dangerous sense of place &
identity. some are content to wander. they’ll continue to
move until they keel over. unconcerned with phony
obituaries. unconcerned with where they fall.
8.
i’m not being protected. i’m not sure i ever was. i’m a grown
man, at least halfway to the green room. i fear no man. i’m
not being spared suffering. i’m being led astray so someone
can save face. so someone can pretend they’ve forgotten. so
someone can evade questions they feel are irrelevant so late
in the game.
impossibly swirling or dancing or chaotic—there’s always
a center. infinity is no exception. do you need mathematical
proof, or are you willing to take my word? it may be carved
on what appear to be the outer edge as advertised. it may be
six feet under. it may be a reasonable facsimile. it may be
held within a single piece of paper. it may be hidden in a dark
drawer. it might be blasted across the heavens but no one’s
looking. it might be lying at the bottom of a river a few blocks
from here. it may be packed tight inside a ball of mud or clay
containing a code that descrambles the helix or the faith of the
multitudes. it may leave size eleven footprints, the exact same
size as mine. it might draw a deep breath before speaking. it
might just sigh & look away absently, as if the distance is
some consolation. it might be an endless list of theoretical
possibilities. it might be a contradiction of terms.
the planet or rattling wooden slats while holding on for dear life.
yet only a handful are considered legitimate. this would mean
we have to look no further than what we’re handed. it seems
ridiculous either way.
9.
i have no black suit. i don’t recall ever owning one. i’ve never
been a pallbearer. i have served as an altar boy though. lighting
tall white candles. only to snuff them out an hour later. now,
i never blow them out. i let them burn all the way down. because
it almost feels like defying reason. it almost feels like fate. it
almost feels like the right thing to do.
10.
i’ll admit to having obsessive-compulsive behavior patterns.
but i think i have a small measure of control over them now.
to begin if grilled about my whereabouts during the time in
question.
i search & destroy. i have unlimited, unconditional love. i’m
a paradox that may one day crumble into something concrete.
the fact that i recognize these conundrums, doesn’t sketch
out half the problem.
the pain worsens. what does this have to do with striving?
11.
i was never given a cool banana seat bicycle or a visionary
erector set. i was never given a bb gun or a cheap teenage
guitar. though i asked repeatedly. perhaps i begged. i don’t
know. i can’t remember those obligatory moments. i was
never lent the car to impress girlfriends. i learned to use my
tongue instead. i never had a few dollar a few dollars
tucked in my hand without even asking. i never had proper
medical or dental care.
a song & dance i had no talent for—because the alternatives
seemed beyond my footwork even more. i was never given
any sensible advice. i was never pointed in someone’s idea
of the right direction. i was never allowed a dog. i was robbed
of the only cat i cared about.
probably not. we experienced the same disappointments.
so why do we have nothing in common?
12.
i’d give away all these ink-stained notebooks for a single
line of pure poetry. it wouldn’t have to come from my own
hand, as long as it was meant for my eyes & heart. i’d trade
all i own for raining sheets filled with soul crammed into
margins if needed, & whatever is left of a song i hear as
they sing past my head.
Message Thread:
« Back to thread