Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Through post-adolescent fear, we marched forward as involuntary draftees in collegiate armies full of promise and uncertainty.
Four years of hard labor, sex, drugs, and alcohol sweating through our consciences, peptic ulcer anxieties.
Torn between duty and pheremonic ecstasies we burned the midnight oil and partied 'til grey twilight of the dawn.
Bobbing for forbidden apples, peer pressure holding our hazed faces below the surface until the point of erotic asphyxia.
Semi-conscious realization in the glow of bare basement incandescent lights six feet under beer stained floorboards.
The hideous scent of vomit, piss, and beer drumming out the beauty of innocence lost in the maddening pace of competitive debauchery.
Neither the greatest generation, nor me generation, not baby boom, no gen x, gen y. Generation Nothing.
Greatest wonders were we who got up in the morning and continued to ambush our cache of talent and brain cells, day in day out.
Holding the rudder to the wind for the course of double-vision compasses maintaining headings true.
We meddled with duty and destiny carrying onward in mediocrity to the finish line still proud in the face of spite.
Shadows of the Great Depression looming over us like specters in the night spearing voices of shame into our psyches.
We dodged anti-establishment banter, flower power warriors hurling martyred ideology down our throats so we may taste the shame.
Thrusting rock'n'roll into our ears like fingers we chanted loudly over dark reason hoping for a brighter way.
My generation of fence walkers, teetering above the jaws of yesteryears never knowing which way the wind blows.
So pour another drink of c'est la vie, forget the moral battles, grab the token laureate and join the corporate ranks....
Three Word Wednesday offered these: Ambush, Hideous, Meddle
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Though lean and lithe and sinewy
He toils earth and stone with ease
Slipping through the dark of night
To feed his begger's appetite
His occupation would some offend
Disturbing any human's end
Divining with his crooked spade
Sniffing gentry freshly laid
Tripping lilies in the gloom
He raids the poshly relished tomb
From the grave rise auntie's pearls
Or the pocket watch of master Earl
What value can a dead man claim?
When ash to ash be one and same?
The labor done whence dawn has come
Another honest workday done
Three Word Wednesday offered these: Grave, Lithe, Offend
Image and artwork courtesy of J.M.J. Wikholm. Visit him at flikr
the space is empty yet they wail
if walls could talk they'd tell the tale
when childhood ends, the demons hail
and fall upon us tooth and nail
within this room, a spirit’s jail....
Image courtesy of Seed 2 Sickle Studio.