and superman is dead…

and superman is dead…

antique book close up handwriting
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

a hand written note found on scene:

“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?

dirt.

dirt.

agriculture backyard blur close up
Photo by Lukas on Pexels.com

tasked” 4/27/18

I paused

I stopped

to look around

I never noticed

-the sound

until now

at first a gentle scratching

scraping tapping

on the ground

I try to recall

when I was put to this task

a minute, some months

decades past?

I look up and about

from half ways down

try to estimate my position

and to what contract I am bound

to this

 

across the plotted fields

the very same sounds

a constant beat

against the ground

metal clinks

and again

same refrain

chanting thumping metal frames

penetrates and lifts a mound

metal, dirt, metal, dirt

always down

always down


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…

Cellar Darling “Black Moon”

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

guilt.

guilt.

grayscale photography of man sitting beside wall

“I am, Ruins” 7.18.18

can you forgive me?
can I forgive myself?

NO.

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

Parts Unknown

Parts Unknown

“I eat, I write and I travel”

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.

Suicide

Suicide

man in black dress shirt with blue denim shirt sitting on black concrete bench near green plants
Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

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


Music… Boa “Rain”