We are all in this..there’s the politics, the pointilism..&the pointlessness! so you can’t sleep~~! and what if that’s the case? Well, typically, I, my self, I will get up and make coffee, black! and try and dredge up a decent poetic expression in the freshness of consciousness upon awaking in the pre-dawn hours, while the wife sleeps..and the cats, yet, also, arranged a-round, in a semi-circle..imperceptible life-forces, in suspended animation, plus a dog; and a chicken, the out-sider of the household, perched, in her KUSTOM LOG hen-house, with a slanted window view on the heavens each and every night, out back, there, better than ours looking straight out on the plain, but c o ld, for her, in winter, COMING SOON! (still looking for that firewood to get here, though).
But why, to waste brain, –on all of that? a terrible thing! Best leave the soil un-tilled for best results; rather than to plant and harvest or sow and reap, reap and sow..case of politics, rape and blow, ach! the brain! the brain has to die..the brain that couldn’t, –must!for the sake of the precious innards, and children, to blossom and bloom, reach for the light!the inward man, –or p e r s on, if you must! must die to self to give to others..it’s a principle, so why? why! am I up, up at this rude hour, conjuring these rude thoughts..upon which to build a poem, like a hen-house, fashioned from ancient stores of saved, dust covered materials, of a true character, ~~to dream, perchance to reap! (Thank you for the question.)
So we sit, in the dark night..but not that dark! You see, they,THEY! THE BIG THEY proclaim death, in the face of life..
“We’ll all be killed!! the planet,,just can’t sustain us, –or itself, no! not a minute longer.”
It’s unsustainable, you see, so they say. And they’re worried to death about all of that..plastic bottles, bobbing in the ocean, cars! cars, pumping out oil in the streets, leaky gaskets! bleeding their life’s blood all over the place, and to the detriment of man, oh! the duterium! –terrible! and me? I, my self, I go look out the window to look upon stars, with coffee-cup on hand and what do I see? all the pollutions of peoples’ lights they turn on and keep and keep going, all through the night! what are they frightened of, to burn their environmentally-safe, nurturing bulbs all the while they sleep? And it’s not only offensive, and doom..it’s waste! and senseless lot of it. But I remember, vaguely, now, the ranch,THE RANCH! before the computers took over..and all there was, to be had, was paper..reams of it (to write on,RIGHT ON!), and the pair of cats we took with us there, into oblivion,OBLIVION! far from the madness of a society fast turning inwards, perhaps even pre-FACEBOOK..no social media, if that’s conceivable, and there we were, at night, with the electrical generator shut down..at the flick of a switch! with a candle to read by. And write. No lap-top, no nothing! and no neighbors’ lights to interfere with the jobs of stars in the night skies, FREE! of pollution..from rude, not organic..light! Only the chickens’ shit threatened to shut down good old mother earth for us..that’s it! That was all we had to worry about, as far as our environmental concerns. The Ranch. And
..now I come to our friend Steve, who got us there..in the first place. I guess I really can’t talk about that without mentioning the role the county of san bernardino played in that..but let’s not. Just say this. I don’t hate them..but I seem to feel better when they’re not around. Steve..oh! how we miss him. He died and he went o heaven and he eviscerated himself out of our lives..and for that I will never forgive him. But at the same time I’m happy for him, not having to be here for this! (The Big This) Steve was..one of the big loves of our lives..he allowed us to breathe, –in a society, or a county, rather, where they hunt artists for fun..and are loaded for bear, on the taxpayers’ dime –in big bear! A place like that you can’t survive long without a serious friendship..or two. And Steve was one of those, in a small band of brothers, who shared our challenges, our pains..and our triumphs! And I have his cat, “Kracker” to remind me of him..Kracker, one of our nick-names, –Whitey, whatever. His true name is Eli, and white is his color. Is white a color..Steve, with us, was seeing the dawn of a new age racism – Anti-white – turned back at us honkies, –we honkies? In any case, it was a Kenyan who caused it (no names, please!) and a Kenyan who continues to ride the coattails of ancient hatreds, and loathings and revilings, streaming from the pits of hell..in fallen man.
But I wasn’t going to talk about that, I was recalling the ranch, and what it was like, –oh! and Steve got us there; for our season in the sun..and stars by night.
The chicken was laying on the dirt floor in the coop. Well what could I do? Mm..a lot! I picked her up in my arms and carried her upstairs to the study. And studied her, she’s..an old chicken. Elizabeth figures she’s seven. Now, for a chicken that’s a long life..especially if she’s a TYSON chicken. But she’s not. Here, she’s family. So I petted her, and found a nice box and put my muslin pajama-top in for padding and laid her down to rest. She put her head in the corner, deep. I attempted to correct her, by turning her a few degrees so she could have a view, but she returned to her first position, so I left her there. I Got her her chicken scratch, and a splash of cognac. She left the food, but took a couple sips of the beverage, it, –dribbled off her beak and onto her chest-feathers. That was kind of sloppy, to behold, but she was on the verge of going on, and over to eternity..so I won’t be critical about it. Next, thinking what might be pleasant, I selected a Beethoven piano concerto, whatever was the second record down in the box set and played it for her..the first movement (performance was the Cleveland Orchestra with Szell and Fleischer, top-notch). It seemed to do the trick. She appeared much relaxed. There are some very nice cadenzas, and the one at the beginning manages to do an impression of still having the orchestra tagging along, but its just the pianist all by himself, faking it, and it goes on awhile, before opening the gate for the orchestra to get back in there. Later on, there’s another cadenza that is just dreamy! and it incloses everything piano that came before, and has gone on, since, –Even Liszt would have to concede..that! Simply, it is just magic, –shoe-glue for the ears, sealed for a life-time guarantee, nothing will ever separate you, from those moments of audible bliss! Done. Now the cat wants to know what’s up..your feathered friend is passing, stupid! Next question. So why do we have to ever part with our loved ones, what is up with that!
I petted her, and went on working on my essay..ese! I petted the cat. He wouldn’t get out of my face..everytime I’m coming out with a work of genius he’s walking on my mac, AND MAKINGTHINGS..very difficult, getting between me and the keys. He’s so soft and furry! Of course he wants me to feed him, and that may take awhile. Oh well! The next morning she was a bit stiff, and cool to the touch. I dug a hole by the picket-fence, and later that afternoon we put her in, after I re-cleaned the hole that some gopher had fouled, cutting across, coming off of his tunnel, and so on. I made a home-movie about us giving her her service. ~the End
ps: she was a good chicken..had been at the bottom of the pecking-order, but somehow, won the lottery, last of fifty. God rest her.
Scruffy's..Blurgh! 