Mid Times
End Times are nigh!
Visible in imaginative counterwise parallax
When innocents die
Seduced and dancing, and
Fear not attacks
When flesh suffers wounds, breaches unprecedented
And naïvité's open doors swing stuck open
Apoplectic spectator minds, inert and disoriented
Cannot halt the butchery-slippery sloping
Kill all those who can read
Shoot the whites of their eyes through their glasses
Kill the kneeling who plead
On prayer rugs' lies floating up with their ashes
Kill those of the cross, star, or crescent
Excepting what's yours so dutifully venerated
Vet their religion, their nation, their parents
Condemn the sin of appeasing the tolerated
Burn those disreputing your thing, of itself
And holy words, you are taught, that must be read
Let their heads roll gaily on god's trophy shelf
When mouths speak against what's goodly, godly said
Between each Hudnah the bar can be lowered
Paths of resistance wear the wardrobes of theater
The bilious venom bleeds darkly colored
Red, yellow, black, and greener
The world as we know it, hangs weak-linked tethered
Dismiss how much worse stage cues can call
And how the Mid Times' horrors portend End Crimes to come
Though La Condition humaine's curtain won't fall
Times do not end, only Mid Times for some
The Shape of Music
Sounds fill the air
with circles of swirling sonic splendor,
spinning with barrages of notes
that send the heart into a frenzy,
numbing the mind with pleasure,
rhythm pulses passion
in squares and rectangles
of galloping thumping thuds,
parallel to the beats of the heart
sending the body into movement,
music engulfs the body
in the sideways eight of infinity,
vibrating and blanketing,
pounding and elevating
to the stars and ellipses
of orbit.
Out of Body
When you feel the music
slide into you
like a wave of warm air
on a frigid night
and your mind opens to the divine,
a splash of light and pleasure
that overwhelms you
and fills you with a blaze of energy,
when the drugs hit
and your mind leaves you alone
with waves of ecstasy
running through your numbed body
like electric fingers
caressing your back, your mind
and lighting an inner fire,
a flare of fiery life,
when the sex is amazing
with a beautiful woman
smile like a sunrise, hair like a waterfall,
ass like the sweetest candy,
and she knows all the tricks and can go all night
and you’re filled with blazing pleasure,
nuclear passion
that sends you into the stratosphere,
you leave your body
and join with the divine,
that collective pleasure,
universal light
that rains down from Heaven
in sunbeams and disco ball flashes,
sending your soul
back where it belongs.
Death’s thoughts on a friend
the first time
she was young
and for a moment
we talked
about nothing
but flowers
two years more
she told me
her name's jean
and that she
hated outfits
with the color yellow
I lost track
until she
popped up
and said that
she was tired
of seeing me
another time
she said that
she would make
sure she would
not see me
until the end
a year after
her distraught
I told her
we can't stop
and that she
keeps dying
her second time
before her last
she told me
"Death I know
It's a curse
I will end"
Her last time
way too young
she did
I've done this before. And I hated it then.
I'm doing it now. And somehow, hate it even more.
What I'm doing? Well, it's an interesting story.
I'm an injury-prone child.
I gain scratches and bruises like its a hobby.
But, one injury always lands me in the same place.
Here.
Before, nearly 3 years ago, I was sprinting in the rain (Don't lecture me. I heard enough from the doctor) and slipped. I fell on my collar-bone.
Fun-fact for those who don't know: Falling and breaking something hurts.
A-lot.
So much so, I passed out from it, which was probably better for me.
Now, here's where it gets weird.
I'm falling through a dark tunnel. Nothing is around me, above or below. Its like I'm sky-diving through a cosmic-sized paper-towel role (If that makes any sense).
I continue to fall, faster and faster, my worry increasing. What if there is no end? What if I land flat on solid ground? Why am I falling, anyway?
After a while, more strange things started to happen. (Great! More unexplained phenomenons!)
This is hard to explain, but its like I stopped falling, and started floating. As if I had suddenly stopped gaining speed while free falling- toward nothingness.
(I later learned that's exactly what it was. Its called "Terminal Velocity."
This second bit, however, doesn't have a scientific term. (At least, not that I've found.) The bottom of the tunnel starts lighting up, like a sunrise on the horizon. It slowly gets brighter, and brighter, and I was getting closer and closer to it.
I was close enough to almost touch it.......
So naturally that's when I woke up.
I later years I would write my experience off to some wacky medicine or something. But, my next experience cast doubt on the idea.
This time, I wasn't sprinting in the rain. It was much worse.
I don't want to talk about it, but it involved a tall hill, a sled, and a bet.
So I found myself here again.
Falling.
Through a giant paper-towel roll.
My new idea on this place? This is transport to whatever's after life. And whatever it is, I'll have been prepared.
But hopefully, its on less childish terms.
(Note- the author lived another 85 years after this story was written. He passed peacefully at age 101, in 2022. Clearly he can't prove or disprove his ideas.)
Hidden
I can’t love.
My mind is a mess
of twisted thoughts
I’ve shaped over the years
to help me do
what I thought I was supposed to do,
to help me say
what I thought I was supposed to say.
Someone said hi,
I said hi back.
Someone said I love you,
I said I love you back
because I thought
that’s what I was supposed to do.
I always waited
for the woman to climax
because I thought that was
what I was supposed to do.
The polite thing to do.
But my heart
is this sunken hidden thing
I don’t think I have access to
underneath all these thoughts
twisted like a mess of spaghetti,
twisted by my need to fit in,
by my need to attempt
to be human.
The End
As an 85-year-old man, death has always come for me. I think it now can reach me after all its time trying. Every day I wake up thinking about how many days, hours, and seconds I have left. Every second scares me. The only thought in my head is if I have enough time. I try to make the most of my time by always meeting my son's family. I have kept a grave secret from them and that is that I have a serious disease that can't be cured.
My son always tries his best and his children are like him. I never thought I would have enough money to feed him when he was a child. Now he has a business and everything so I think he'll be okay when I leave.
I love you, son...
