Monthly Archives: April 2016

AA Monologue #2

So I guess I wanted to start off by apologizing for my rant the last time I was up here. You see I get real passionate sometimes and can’t help myself. This stuff is kinda getting’ to me, ya know? Like once you start readin’ these guys and see what they had to say, it all starts to kinda make sense. Like when this guy Artie S. (I can’t pronounce his last name so don’t even ask me), Artie says all we wanna really do is live, all anything really wants to do is exist, is to be. I guess just by me breathing I’m already doing what I was meant to do. The rest of it then is all me. I get to choose how I live, why doesn’t matter anymore. Why? Just because. The entire universe tends towards life. Who knows why? We’ll never find the answer because there is none. Even if there was one, we won’t find it while we’re so limited by these bodies of ours. They distort reality, we can only see visible light for instance. What about all the other lights? Like infra red or xrays or somethin’. We can’t see those. Like bacteria. So many others worlds that we don’t even have a notion of. It’s all so very complicated, I get mighty confused. I try to talk to smart people about this stuff but they seem to think I’m crazy. I guess curiosity is considered crazy nowadays. Nobody cares anymore or want to know anything.

Me, well I’m just gettin’ started with this whole learnin’ business.

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Elmer G (based on Elmer Gantry – Sinclair Lewis)

You’d find him at the bar, Ole Elmer G,

Round the time o’ noon on down ’til three.

He’d drink and he’d drink ’til he couldn’t see,

That all his words weren’t nothin’ but hypocrisy.

 

He’d praise the Lord and lecture old sinners,

He’d shake their hands and attend their dinners.

Why, he’d make them all shake and roar with laughter,

While seducing both their wives and their daughters.

 

Ole Elmer G, why sometimes even he,

Believed in his own false prophecies.

Naught but lies would spill from his lips,

He loved to preach in between long, deep sips.

 

For a drink was a thing he could never refuse,

And a woman over God he’d most certainly choose.

He followed his whims and fancies when he could,

He let them lead him wherever they would.

 

A happy man was he with a lover and a drink,

A happier man when he didn’t have to think,

For Ole Elmer G wanted what I suppose we all do,

To live with some love, and a bit of happiness too.

 

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Flux

Everything had changed. Imperceptibly. Like the changing of the seasons, gradually but inevitably. She somehow ended up here, miles and years away from where it all began, from the birth of her existence to now, with the end in sight. She tried to trace the outline of her life, now faded and yellowed around the edges. She tried to piece it all together, to see the picture of her life and make sense of it. What was the point after all this time? Was it worth it? Did her accomplishments, or lack thereof, signify at all? Probably not, she thought. All of the pain and the suffering and the brief moments of joy didn’t even matter. The despair she felt didn’t matter, the hopelessness and anger and soul-rending sorrow were things of the past. Everything passes, as will she soon enough. She couldn’t help but reflect in the murky dusk of the waning day, staring into the sea.

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Essays Of Schopenhauer

On Suicide

When in some horrid and frightful dream we reach the highest pitch of terror, it awakens us, scattering all the monsters of the night. The same thing happens in the dream of life, when the greatest degree of terror compels us to break it off.

 

Suicide may also be looked upon as an experiment, as a question which man puts to Nature and compels her to answer. It asks, what change a man’s existence and knowledge of things experience through death? It is an awkward experiment to make; for it destroys the very consciousness that awaits the answer.

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Lonesome Bill (a song)

C G Am F

I ain’t got no umbrella,

To shelter me from the rain,

I ain’t got no lover,

To wipe away my pain.

No, I ain’t got a family,

To shelter me from the storm,

I ain’t got no innocence,

To keep me from harm.

 

Well, I tell ya my friends,

It’s a lonely kinda life,

To be an ole bachelor,

Who ain’t got no wife.

 

For the one I once loved,

Done left me all alone,

She fell for another man,

A better man than before.

 

I ain’t got no umbrella,

To shelter me from the rain,

I ain’t got no lover,

To wipe away my pain.

No, I ain’t got a family,

To shelter me from the storm,

I ain’t got no innocence,

To keep me from harm.

 

So I guess that’s it,

My lonely days are done,

Well, I guess that’s all,

For soon I’ll be gone.

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The Girl Who Knits

There she sits, the girl who knits,

There she sits, and she knits and she knits,

Day and night, rain or shine,

Still she sits, knitting line by line.

 

What she knits no one knows,

Still she knits, and still it grows,

A scarf maybe, perhaps a sweater?

That’s my guess, is yours any better?

 

Why she knits no one knows,

Or when she started knitting clothes,

But she knits and she knits,

Yard by yard, bit by bit,

Until at last she can no longer knit.

 

I too you know have started to knit,

I too have started bit by bit,

But my bit of sweater, wouldn’t you know?

Takes a much longer time in order to grow.

 

When she sits and she knits

and her sweater hits the floor,

While she steadily keeps knitting,

I grow tired of sitting.

 

I grow restless, I grow sore,

I can’t take any more,

And at last, ever the quitter,

I ceded victory to the lonely knitter.

 

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Portait of the Artist as an Old Man (in progress)

[regression of consciousness]

He woke with a start, paintbrush in hand, spittle dribbling down the right side of his face, the direction in which his head had sloped when he dozed off. He was facing a blank canvas and couldn’t remember why for a second. He stared at the canvas, then his eyes traveled beyond, where he saw a well-manicured green lawn surrounded by tall leafy trees. He noticed minnows flitting here and there on the lawn and a cat in the distance watching them closely as they skipped and danced in the sunlight of the waning afternoon.

A figure waltzed up to him and smiled condescendingly down at him.

“How are you feeling there gramps? Refreshed from your nap?”

He vaguely remember that this was his useless son-in-law, a vulture of the worst kind. “As fresh as a daisy, ginger.” He enjoyed mocking Bert for his hair and freckled visage.

Bert’s smile faded. He grunted at the old man and walked away to the tea table set up on the lawn. Gramps chuckled to himself. He slowly stood up, with no little help from the thankfully study arms of his chair. His strength was weakening daily. He could feel it, and a sense of urgency to finish something again struck him. There was something he had to do and time was running out but he had yet to know what that thing was.

This uncanny sense of the unfinished haunted him from early childhood. He would gaze at the cloudless sky on the cool dirt of his unkempt backyard and wonder what it was he was meant to do in  this wide world, of which he had then but a taste.

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