Category Archives: Prose and Poetry

Failure.

Brokenhearted
But,
My toothless past
Can bite my ass.

Misc Poems

Misc Poems.

Moment Called Now

At a time between a Moment Called Now,
And a time of Then Later Then,
When that last gasp of your metabolism,
Goes trickling out from your helpless rectum,
You are bound to learn this hardest of lessons.

This hardest of lessons, but why?
Forced upon me, such as it was,
By a need for survival, but surprise!
Then Later Then became now a gift.
Then Later Then close to my heart I keep.

When, at the request of a Moment Called Now,
The lesson is drawn into the open and Declares:
Control is but submission to Nature’s every whim!
Control is but submission to Nature’s every whim!
Forced upon me, hard, gift though it was.

It may come to be, Then Later Then,
Then Later Then, you may know,
Born anew into things as they are,
Far, far beyond your control,
You may want me in your heart again.

Do remember please, time does take its time.
When Then Later Then becomes a Moment Called Now,
Even the Greatest of Loves,
The very hungriest of my longings,
Will have little need for a corpse.

Oh, Tiger!

Mirror! Mirror! burning bright
In the bathroom, late at night,
What immoral kind of guy,
Could be so vain, yet be so shy?

The King and I.

I came from the future.
They brought me to their king. But,
He did not believe me.
So I shot two soldiers.
Boy was I in trouble. But,
I cured the princess of
an infection. She was a beauty.
We got married and had a kid. But,
Now I am my own great grandfather.
I knew it would happen this way.

The Salad Bar.

Good, solid Christian men in matching coveralls, a bit past their wildest days.

What detail and care goes into the selection and arrangement!  All the intensity and dedication of cooking a fine holiday meal.

Secretaries and dental assistants, nurses and mental assistants, teachers, lonely lovers.  Me.  Watched in awe.  How silly it seems now, midst the mundane treachery, to ever have dreamed of greatness at the salad bar.

Mendelev’s Dream CHAPTER 1: The Dossier

“Who is Mendelev?”    The question hung ominously, as the room of gaunt faces turned towards the man walking in.  Taller than the rest, he took his seat at the head of a long table. “Who is Mendelev? And how is it that I know nothing of him?”  His voice, while calm, had undertones of irritation, deeper-still were undertones of fear.

One could count to twenty in the silence that ensued. Finally, a man to the left side of the table cleared his throat to speak. “We simply do not know. He came to our attention barely one day ago, and no background or history can yet be found.”  This reply did not sit well anywhere in the windowless and monochromatic room. “Gentlemen, in today’s world one day is an eternity. Is Mendelev not a man? Has he no records? Perhaps he is a phantom. Or, even, a dream?”

Phantom or not, Mendelev’s room at this very moment was filled with the morning light, a breeze was tossing the white gauze curtains that had recently come back into fashion.  He had awakened somewhat refreshed, though still depleted after weeks of constant travel. He gazed from his bed at the pleasant-enough view, and wondered if this home would finally be his last. In the mirror, Mendelev did not see himself as a particularly mysterious character. Rather, his handsomely anonymous face was an asset of his, along with a pleasant and open personality. There were certainly times that he wished for a more distinguishable and heroic visage, or a more selfish nature, but this was not one of those moments. So, all in all, right now, Mendelev could be said to be content, weary and perhaps a bit more mysterious than he himself realized.

Are there others to mention?  Yes, there are, of course.  Anna and Feo.  Blessed with similar features but opposite demeanors, the two remained in perpetual contest with one another even in their times of secretive romance. They remained the closest things to allies to be found anywhere in Mendelev’s strange saga.

Next comes August, known and despised as Mendelev’s greatest enemy, revered by some for the same reason.  His minions that we have just met in the stark room remain, at least to me, nameless.  After August, then there are Döbereiner and Gmelin, two of the infamous German Triad that has alternately protected and threatened Mendelev.  Finally, are the various minor players in this game. Some are quite prominent people, but all are generic and interchangeable for our purposes.  They fill the expected roles, much as you and I do ourselves.

Gazing from his bed, Mendelev was grateful to have not very much on his mind. While no person’s future is ever very certain and Mendelev knew his was even less so, the present at last seemed reasonably predictable. He would have to shop for some items for his apartment and kitchen. Begin the process of putting down roots, of meeting new friends and useful tradesmen. Sorting through a list of lovers, past and future, available or not, requited, unrequited, or none of the above. A consideration of what would be presentable clothing for his only adequate budget, and whether he was up to the demands of a house pet. Mendelev was finding himself feeling sleepy again.

Most of us, having labored through periods of great exertion and minimal rest, are familiar with the state of mind that these engender. Mainly, the state consists of a pleasant sense of depersonalization, which in turn can serve to remind us just how much our conscious awareness of the world is taken up with self-observation. The sensations of the body, pavement pressing against the foot, photons impacting the retina, food dissolving in the stomach or the release of endorphins during orgasm, these are all things that must be observed to be understood or even known. In this regard, living our daily life has a distinct similarity to the watching of a film.

“Then I drifted into a dream,
from which I was soon awakened.
Into sleep.”

(To Be Continued)