Absolutely Fucking Reality

[twelveoone]

...and on the brighter side, a flash
"as it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
- something from somewhere
Insert Racist Part Here
I've been down this road ten thousand times,
every crack, every hole, the houses on both sides
are known, their almost imperceptible change
as if on an aging face. Through, I know no one,
Insert Sexist Part Here
personally. It is often deserted about now, late
Sunday afternoon, but this? Too still.
The weather is not an excuse, of late
it has been as atoll to me in seas of ugly,
that is life on unfirm foot for view of unfettered sky,
its clouds of myriad hopes; a sun not yet set
but in its glory enough to warm a komodo's hide.
Insert Underage Stuff Here
There is nothing, no sign of life.
Insert Complaint About Rejection Here
Where are the dog walkers,
with their plastic bags of shit,
the aimless groups of kids,
the old couples?
Where are the suicidal squirrels
always running in the road,
the spandex asses on their bikes,
where are the fucking birds?
Insert Ring Poem Here
There is no sound but the car, its tires on the road.

How long has it been this way, no cars.
Behind me, nothing coming up from the side
The strip malls all are empty, I forgot
to check the parking lots of the bars.
The traffic lights are working fine.

 

[twelveoone]

Strange, not even dead things, not
even mashed cat, skunk, groundhog.
I'm tempted to run the light. But
with my luck, I won't even get a cop.
It's all automatic now, mail a photo
of the plate, a fine.

How long has it been this way -
ever since I've left. Did everyone
decide to leave and just not get back?
This is not a three day. A plague?
There would be a stink. There is no
smell. No flowers, barbeque. I light
a cigarette, I think I smelled the match.

 

[twelveoone]

another uncanny valley sunday
At this point, a fly in the window
a spider on the dash, I light another cigarette
I smell the match. I think. I almost turn
the radio on to see if there is some
apocalypse I must have missed,
or just to hear another voice.
But its probably prerecorded anyway.

Relief. About an half a mile down
the road an oncomming car. No need
to seek out comfort in some old song.
A man alone, and then another man
in another otherwise empty car. I
think I see that same weary fear
that is overcomng me. What the hell
are we surviours of? And old songs
just stir memories, gateways to the past.

"As it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
I read or saw something like somewhere.
This zero series. I thought I was lucky
this morning...

 

[twelveoone]

Well shit, this fucker is getting to long to submit. I may as well quit right here and now.

 

[Trixareforkids]

Cancel my new favorite soap?! No!
Why do they always cancel the interesting shit?
Oh yeah, people don't like to think about their entertainment.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled mind numbing programming.
Eat shit, buy shit, so you can be the shit.
Tune in tomorrow for more shit...

 

[twelveoone]

Cancel my new favorite soap?! No!
Why do they always cancel the interesting shit?
Oh yeah, people don't like to think about their entertainment.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled mind numbing programming.
Eat shit, buy shit, so you can be the shit.
Tune in tomorrow for more shit...

it has a bad end anyway

 

[butters]

...and on the brighter side, a flash
"as it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
- something from somewhere
Insert Racist Part Here
I've been down this road ten thousand times,
every crack, every hole, the houses on both sides
are known, their almost imperceptible change
as if on an aging face. Through, I know no one,
Insert Sexist Part Here
personally. It is often deserted about now, late
Sunday afternoon, but this? Too still.
The weather is not an excuse, of late
it has been as atoll to me in seas of ugly,
that is life on unfirm foot for view of unfettered sky,
its clouds of myriad hopes; a sun not yet set
but in its glory enough to warm a komodo's hide.
Insert Underage Stuff Here
There is nothing, no sign of life.
Insert Complaint About Rejection Here
Where are the dog walkers,
with their plastic bags of shit,
the aimless groups of kids,
the old couples?
Where are the suicidal squirrels
always running in the road,
the spandex asses on their bikes,
where are the fucking birds?
Insert Ring Poem Here
There is no sound but the car, its tires on the road.

How long has it been this way, no cars.
Behind me, nothing coming up from the side
The strip malls all are empty, I forgot
to check the parking lots of the bars.
The traffic lights are working fine.

there's something out of place about returning to what we knew - perspective changes, buildings change, appear, disappear.... relationships are as suited to this - changes.

i know that when i took a bus ride back to the streets i grew up in for 18 years, i was a stranger in a strange land. the school - a huge place - just wasn't there anymore, just an empty field. the house i lived in nearby was there, but my father and brother weren't living there. i mean, i knew that, but it felt so strange standing near the gateway, knowing i couldn't just go knock an walk in, or go in round the back.... it was as if the place, the area, had forgotten me,as if i'd stopped existing for it. a flesh and blood ghost. your piece made me feel that same kind of ghosting.

 

[greenmountaineer]

Strange, not even dead things, not
even mashed cat, skunk, groundhog.
I'm tempted to run the light. But
with my luck, I won't even get a cop.
It's all automatic now, mail a photo
of the plate, a fine.

How long has it been this way -
ever since I've left. Did everyone
decide to leave and just not get back?
This is not a three day. A plague?
There would be a stink. There is no
smell. No flowers, barbeque. I light
a cigarette, I think I smelled the match.

This is really good on its own, 1201; doesn't need the stuff in the other posts IMO. I'm assuming "This is not a three day" refers to "coming back from the dead." If so, "A plaque?" is great juxtaposition.

If not, then I've made a leap of abstraction and hope you'll set me straight.

 

[todski28]

Damn 1201, *shakes head, copies and pastes to read through more thoroughly later*

 

[twelveoone]

This is really good on its own, 1201; doesn't need the stuff in the other posts IMO. I'm assuming "This is not a three day" refers to "coming back from the dead." If so, "A plaque?" is great juxtaposition.

If not, then I've made a leap of abstraction and hope you'll set me straight.

three day holiday, the missing part on this WIP would have supplied that information.
In other words, it is doubtful that every one just drove off. And would not account for the lack of animals, see the problem is I think in symbols and this is a description of what I didn't see, smell.
WIP work in progress? doubt that - I halted.
I thought I was lucky, when the Laundromat was empty that Sunday, and I decided to clean out my car.
It was a strange day.

 

[twelveoone]

"As it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
I read or saw something like that somewhere.
This zero series, I thought I was lucky
this morning when the Laundromat was empty
had the machines all to myself,
but no one to talk to, I decided to clean
the car, got the stuff that sort of drifts
beneath the seats. Found some change,
the special hospice pass, the empty pack
of a cigarettes I don't smoke,
some matches,
and it strikes, the sheer
pointlessness of being
on this empty road
driving home.

Stop, and pass
my own black reflection
and in strained voice
that is not mine
croaked this toneless tune

It was a beautiful day.
It was such was a beautiful day.
Fucking Father's Day.
Waiting for the waves
of another Holiday

I look at my phone
6 PM

dry eyed to the sky
I slip into a prayer
to the god of instant black

Give us this day
Give us this day

my daily lack.

In a few hours it will be dark.

 

[twelveoone]

about 18 spaces


here come the waves again
the anchor no longer holds
its spot, its shot, capsized
its human cargo discharged
let the waves inundate
this empty road
this lightless harbour

a komodo sits on safer ground
closes its eyes
immune

in the sinking of the triune

 

[butters]

"As it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
I read or saw something like that somewhere.
This zero series, I thought I was lucky
this morning when the Laundromat was empty
had the machines all to myself,
but no one to talk to, I decided to clean
the car, got the stuff that sort of drifts
beneath the seats. Found some change,
the special hospice pass, the empty pack
of a cigarettes I don't smoke,
some matches,
and it strikes, the sheer
pointlessness of being
on this empty road
driving home.

Stop, and pass
my own black reflection
and in strained voice
that is not mine
croaked this toneless tune

It was a beautiful day.
It was such was a beautiful day.
Fucking Father's Day.
Waiting for the waves
of another Holiday

I look at my phone
6 PM

dry eyed to the sky
I slip into a prayer
to the god of instant black

Give us this day
Give us this day

my daily lack.

In a few hours it will be dark.

dark, barren, clever, invites me as some sort of voyeur on a difficult time for the N.

but this part that follows, for me, it's strong enough to stand alone. stronger than the lines above, says more, in a better way is more poem i suppose. it bids me look, bids me feel, bids me experience, embraces the reader as an integral part whereas the lines above are less inclusive. what lies below comes closer to that union of author>poem<reader. imo.

about 18 spaces


here come the waves again
the anchor no longer holds
its spot, its shot, capsized
its human cargo discharged
let the waves inundate
this empty road
this lightless harbour

a komodo sits on safer ground
closes its eyes
immune

in the sinking of the triune

the father, son and ghost link to earlier lines, but i have a deeper appreciation of the reptilian complex (triune brain) reference - it hurts less that way - and links with an absence, that of the paleomammalian complex and, ultimately, the neomammalian c.

 

[twelveoone]

whereas the lines above are less inclusive.

...well imagine how I felt

the uncanny valley - emp says
the dark side, so says bflag
you know how I feel, thanks

 

[twelveoone]

The Monitor

"as it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
- something from somewhere

I've been down this road ten thousand times,
every crack, every hole, the houses on both sides
the almost imperceptible changes are known,
as if on an aging face. Through, I know no one,
personally. It is often deserted about now,
late Sunday afternoon, but this?


It is too still.

The weather is not an excuse, of late
in the seas of ugly, it has been as an atoll
for view of unfettered sky, clouds of myriad
hopes and sun not yet set but in glory
enough to warm a monitor's hide.

Here is nothing,
no sign of life.


Where are the dog walkers,
with their plastic bags of shit,
the aimless groups of kids,
the old couples?
Where are the suicidal squirrels
always running in the road,
the spandex asses on their bikes,
where are the fucking birds?

But there is no sound
but the car, tires on the road.


How long has it been this way, no cars.
Behind me, nothing coming up from the side
The strip malls all are empty, I forgot
to check the parking lots of the bars.
The traffic lights are working fine.

Strange, not even dead things, not
even mashed cat, skunk, groundhog.
I'm tempted to run the light. But
with my luck, I won't even get a cop.
It's all automatic now, mail a photo
of the plate, a fine.

How long has it been this way -
ever since I've left. Did everyone
decide to leave and just not get back?
This is not a three day. A plague?
There would be a stink. There is no
smell. No flower, no barbeque. I light
a cigarette, I think I smelled the match.

At this point, a fly in the window
a spider on the dash, I light another cigarette
I smell the match. I think. I almost turn
the radio on to see if there is some
apocalypse I must have missed,
or just to hear another voice.
But its probably prerecorded anyway.

Relief. About an half a mile down
the road an oncomming car. No need
to seek out comfort in some old song.
A man alone, and then another man
in another otherwise empty car. I
think I see that same weary fear
that is overcoming me. What the hell
are we surviours for? And old songs
just stir memories, gateways to the past.

I resist the urge
to talk to myself and laugh,
but laughter alone, sounds like
the inside of steel drums,
untamed and untuned at best.

It's my heart
encased in a rib cage
still a prison, don't you think?

"As it is on earth so shall it be in heaven"
I read or saw something like that somewhere.
This series zero, and I thought
I was lucky this morning
with the Laundromat empty
the machines all to myself,
but no one to talk to,
I decided to clean the car,
got the stuff that sort of drifts
beneath the seats. Found some change,
the special hospice pass, the empty pack
of a cigarettes I don't smoke,
some matches,
and it strikes, the sheer
pointlessness of being
on this empty road
driving home.

I stop, and pass
on the way to the door
my own black reflection
and in strained voice
I croak back to the car
a toneless tune sung
my own image on the hood

It was a beautiful day.
It was such was a beautiful day.
Fucking Father's Day.
Wading in the waves
of another Holiday.

I look at my phone
6 PM,

dry eyed to the sky
I slip into a prayer
to the god of instant black

Give us this day,
our umbrage,

my daily lack.

In a few hours it will be dark.
When is the next unscheduled test?

I have to think this out