“for have I traded honor in for fame even an ounce what I thought was binding my life was actually blinding for have I renounced honor for fame the adulation the kiss the instant opinion on the lips of those who do not know me the adoration the adulation a drug, the addiction but a tool I might have used to carve a statue instead of a tomb.
(and so I leave you, gifted all of a life’s single bounty, cashed in – with regret, so I leave you early now without that kiss)“
notes… I will be tight lipped on this one, there is a lot going on and a lot of inferences (catch them? show me)… but the original thrust was just the crown of fame be that as it may… who among us is better than the highest or the lowest?
notes… I sort of was thinking of the Matrix scene where Neo is “reborn” and also the “fields”… a great metaphor for life, so I imagined that we are all just on this endless plain digging our own graves… because, in a sense, we are, we are all traveling in that way, I am not saying I like it, but it is the truth, which makes me understand suicide more from a rational sense but it is something I could never do… even though honestly, logically the equation is the same… can you really argue that ? the only thing I can champion is maybe just maybe instead of suicide there is creation- of art, of life, of cures of disease, of inspiration of invention, of children… because the human experience tells me.. things are possible, the impossible is possible, death will never be cheated or defeated (everything has an end), but the fight… remember the fight and try to win even when you know you will not. that is the hope of humanity, at least that is what keeps me going, and my hope to inspire. I am just a man but I want to be more. the question is… do you ?
Musical choice ? I will not pull punches.. I think Anna Murphy is the goddamn balls…
She is of course originally from the band eluveitie, and if you have to ask she is playing a Hurdy Gurdy… yeah, totally obscure mechanical violin instrument from the middle ages
the guilt
like a captor
a cage
becomes familiar
a house
with common walls
closing in
circling
blinds the view
no windows
no doors
huddled in the corner
struggling against the bindings of my guilt
under the weight of stone
tattered clothing
barely covers
broken form
cold wood boards
floor creaking
talking
reminding
the key-
to forgive
out of reach
beyond my sight
I can not see,
my mouth, my mouth pantomimes
Help… Help… Help…
(and softer…)
…help –
until a whisper
then just a murmur
quakes across trembled lip
quivers
-help
a single tear forms
and draws
like a blade that strikes out against the world
(help)… (help)… help me, please… please…
No cute notes or music on this one.. I think I will let it stand for itself. -dmk
that is the open to Anthony Bourdain’s show “Parts Unknown” (which just came on now)… and you know what, that is a poem. How quick the media moves on. Anthony killed himself just last week but it seems like years ago. But those words I quote are just full of everything if you think about it. We eat, we work , we travel… through this life.
We eat
we work
we travel
through this life
complete live thought, posted, I think I will try to sleep now.
The universe has a way of sending words into my mind and then to my pen (quite literally I scrawl in journals I have stashed every which where). The inspiration today is not so inspiring (Anthony Bourdain, a fellow New Jersey traveler). Sure, we all will buy the farm at some point but somehow the prospect (and specter) of suicide deadens even a beautiful spring day. Spring should be the time of blossoms not burial.
6.8.2018
suicide
the right to die
on your own time
but what about those
you leave behind
6.8.2018
springtime
for blossoms not burials
but for you my friend
you decided
this is the end
so hope at least
the peace you seek
is yours to grasp
to ever last
6.8.2018
demons in the rear view mirror
much closer
than they appear
