| Letters and Diary Non-Fiction posted March 22, 2016 |
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musings
Leaving Everything Fake for Nothing
by michaelcahill
Should I leave everything fake for nothing? This is the question the various components of me: heart, soul, simple urges, growling desires, myself, I, the you in the mirror … this is what is being considered.
If it’s all fake, then it IS nothing, is it not? So, I’m not leaving everything for nothing in fact. There is the remote chance my unencumbered self might encounter something. I certainly can’t encounter something when I’m burdened by fake nothing. No one wants to involve themselves with fake nothing even for fabulous something assuming I am fabulous, an easy leap of faith for most. Remember, I’m already talking to and answering myself here, delusional isn’t an illogical conclusion.
I suppose one part of my brain should extend courtesy to another. So, you’ve written a poem and made me indulge you I might add by remaining here stoically awaiting something solid to appear through a window. Of course you don’t see the connection between the desert and a window. You only know that sand sifts in an hour glass, you don’t know that it makes one too.
You, the artist. You the brave poet bleeding onto a page pure and white as the … hmm, how would you say it? As pure as the angst propelled expulsion of a cloud’s disgust at a raindrops indifference. But it wasn’t one raindrop, oh no, no, no. It was a conclave of raindrops meeting in secret. Sure, a cloud seems aimless to one as judgmental as you in your heroic splendor. For you blow smoke rings around clouds and trap them for an empire only recently conjured when she said she would but she didn’t. Well, she implied. Didn’t she? Are you that unaware of language, poet?
But snow has little to do with the desert the truth be known. Snow is little more than water finding the going too tough. How many scenic roaring journeys down a gully can a raindrop take before a reluctance to careen through the sky manifests itself with a craving for cookies and sweet nectar.
Yes indeed, I wish for your cookies while pondering the former contests of an average poor soul who’s intentions are good, oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.
So, look, I’ve indulged you, okay? Let’s get to the issue. A life completely fake which you complain about. Everyone takes, but you let them take making who to blame?
Mr. Owl, can you join me? Who? Who? Who?
Excellent. Sure, altruistic, simplistic explanation of a boy that’s a hoot-tarnation I’m a slappin’ at my knee. And I hear he’s quite the kisser first he’d nail her then he’d miss her, just a formula that seems to go that way. Is that the gist of how your game is played?
Now, you can’t hedge your bet or make another sweat or ask a thing of anyone you see. You must make your decision purely on your own and face the chance of nothing, that’s the real.
All of it gone, the remote control, the blue coffee cup, the secret pictures of her, even those that no one ever found for those are in my mind. The money, car and honey buns. The roof, the floor, the walls and door. The windows, well at least the lookin’ out view.
Then you sit there in the sand like a child and pray a pail and shovel all at once appears in your hand. You watch the horizon and hope you’re not a dope on a proverbial rope.
Me, you, I … all the same thing for I am alone. My precious solitude is no longer my beloved friend. It is no longer cozy, it is enormous and unfilled. I scream into its vast space and hear only the echoes of myself. Should I fill this void with a carnival of meaningless noise and faceless clawing people? It distracts. I avoid distractions out of loyalty. What? Yeah, I'm loyal to my heart; isn't that sweet? Hello ... o o o ooooo........
Should I settle for distraction? It can be a pleasure; I admit I’ve smiled a vacant smile or two.
But before you get your answer, you should decide. Did you do the right thing?
Is it wise to leave everything fake for nothing?
The horizon holds my gaze. Will it remain there always lovely and unobtainable, a thing to ponder? Or perhaps one day, a piece of it will break free and slowly walk to me … something real.
Should I leave everything fake for nothing? This is the question the various components of me: heart, soul, simple urges, growling desires, myself, I, the you in the mirror … this is what is being considered.
If it’s all fake, then it IS nothing, is it not? So, I’m not leaving everything for nothing in fact. There is the remote chance my unencumbered self might encounter something. I certainly can’t encounter something when I’m burdened by fake nothing. No one wants to involve themselves with fake nothing even for fabulous something assuming I am fabulous, an easy leap of faith for most. Remember, I’m already talking to and answering myself here, delusional isn’t an illogical conclusion.
I suppose one part of my brain should extend courtesy to another. So, you’ve written a poem and made me indulge you I might add by remaining here stoically awaiting something solid to appear through a window. Of course you don’t see the connection between the desert and a window. You only know that sand sifts in an hour glass, you don’t know that it makes one too.
You, the artist. You the brave poet bleeding onto a page pure and white as the … hmm, how would you say it? As pure as the angst propelled expulsion of a cloud’s disgust at a raindrops indifference. But it wasn’t one raindrop, oh no, no, no. It was a conclave of raindrops meeting in secret. Sure, a cloud seems aimless to one as judgmental as you in your heroic splendor. For you blow smoke rings around clouds and trap them for an empire only recently conjured when she said she would but she didn’t. Well, she implied. Didn’t she? Are you that unaware of language, poet?
But snow has little to do with the desert the truth be known. Snow is little more than water finding the going too tough. How many scenic roaring journeys down a gully can a raindrop take before a reluctance to careen through the sky manifests itself with a craving for cookies and sweet nectar.
Yes indeed, I wish for your cookies while pondering the former contests of an average poor soul who’s intentions are good, oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.
So, look, I’ve indulged you, okay? Let’s get to the issue. A life completely fake which you complain about. Everyone takes, but you let them take making who to blame?
Mr. Owl, can you join me? Who? Who? Who?
Excellent. Sure, altruistic, simplistic explanation of a boy that’s a hoot-tarnation I’m a slappin’ at my knee. And I hear he’s quite the kisser first he’d nail her then he’d miss her, just a formula that seems to go that way. Is that the gist of how your game is played?
Now, you can’t hedge your bet or make another sweat or ask a thing of anyone you see. You must make your decision purely on your own and face the chance of nothing, that’s the real.
All of it gone, the remote control, the blue coffee cup, the secret pictures of her, even those that no one ever found for those are in my mind. The money, car and honey buns. The roof, the floor, the walls and door. The windows, well at least the lookin’ out view.
Then you sit there in the sand like a child and pray a pail and shovel all at once appears in your hand. You watch the horizon and hope you’re not a dope on a proverbial rope.
Me, you, I … all the same thing for I am alone. My precious solitude is no longer my beloved friend. It is no longer cozy, it is enormous and unfilled. I scream into its vast space and hear only the echoes of myself. Should I fill this void with a carnival of meaningless noise and faceless clawing people? It distracts. I avoid distractions out of loyalty. What? Yeah, I'm loyal to my heart; isn't that sweet? Hello ... o o o ooooo........
Should I settle for distraction? It can be a pleasure; I admit I’ve smiled a vacant smile or two.
But before you get your answer, you should decide. Did you do the right thing?
Is it wise to leave everything fake for nothing?
The horizon holds my gaze. Will it remain there always lovely and unobtainable, a thing to ponder? Or perhaps one day, a piece of it will break free and slowly walk to me … something real.
 Recognized |
A response to a review of one of my poems.
The question was, "Should one leave everything behind if it is all fake even though there is nothing guaranteed to be waiting for them?"
The answer was, no, it would be foolish and leave one miserable.
I'm already foolish, so this is my response.
Sorry if it's a little hard to follow, so am I. :)) A little? Smile....
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