HOLIDAY

My bizarre take on a strange holiday tradition has produced magical dancing light.




p.s. may all of yours be merry and bright.

What can I give her that she doesn't already have?

I recently received a text message from a very good friend:

“You watch grinch? What the fuck are they singing?”

I replied:

“Been a while: Ah-boo-doe-ray, Ah-boo-doe-ray. Or something like that. But what I really wanna know is why santa is such a dick to rudolph.”

This was my friends reply:

“Donner a dick too.”

And because I can’t let anything go without an overdone, unnecessary, crack-pot analysis, I replied again:

“Yeah, what up with that. Nice message to send kids…youre different and I dont like you, so fuck you until I need you to pull my sleigh. Then I like you. Santa almost push rudolph over the edge.”

My friend was probably thinking "Why did I even ask?"

But, yeah Santa is pretty much a dick to Rudolph. I believe he says something to the effect of "Pity, and he had potential, too.” And my friend was right, Donner was a dick. Desperate to prove himself a worthy sperm donor, he makes Rudolph cover up his depreciatory genetic mutation. Explaining to his son that there are more important things in life than comfort, like self-respect.

The message: If you don't fit in, you aren't worth shit. So suck it up until you either fit in or someone needs you for something.

And then everyone tries to take it back and pin the "reindeer of the year" award on Rudolph. Kids have to see through that.

(Clarice knew what was up, though. Right from the beginning she knew Rudolph was the shit.)

So, I say to Santa and the rest of the fuckers in this world...just because someone doesn’t fit your image of what “a something” should be you think that they are incapable? Not worthy? Without feelings?

"Just wait, and watch your back."





And, of course I had to look that shit up, so here it is:

Welcome Christmas

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Come this way!

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Christmas Day.

Welcome, Welcome
Fah who rah-moose
Welcome, Welcome
Dah who dah-moose
Christmas day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to clasp

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome, welcome Christmas
Welcome, welcome Christmas
Day


Copyright © 1957, Dr. Seuss.
http://www.seuss.org/seuss/welcome.xmas.html




p.s. a lifetime supply of it.



(poke)

What would you have me say?

Ah, the extraordinary from which I glean substance.



Aviva

In two months time, they had already taken half of your leg. And, your decision to give your eyes had been made, all the arrangements confirmed.

Your veins carried the bits and pieces of your death. Broken off from the center of your gut and pumped through your body by your two-timing heart. The debris collected in the narrows to strangle your extremities. Passageways filled and clogged. Backing up, they would finally find their way to your heart which, by that time, would be too exhausted to push any further.

You were one minute shivering with cold, the next ripping with heat. The cold hand towel placed on your forehead and the morphine on demand were your only physical relief. But the tricks that chemical played on your mind, bringing ghosts to your bedside, became your greatest emotional comfort. You claimed “She’s standing right there.” Obviously, no one else could see her she had been dead for ten years. But eavesdropping on your conversations provided insight into your fear.

"I just want to know why."

"I know, but I'm just not ready yet and I don’t want to be afraid."

"Because I don't want it to end."

While in reality, he stood tirelessly by your side. Always ready for whatever you needed, and there was never a hint of frustration, never a moment that could have been construed as forced. He was in no way put out as he took over some of the nurse’s duties relieving you of any more embarrassment. All for the things he already knew. It was his most selfless act, but at the same time provided him relief from deadful thoughts. Without question or consideration, he cared for you, cleaned you, changed your clothes, your catheter, the colostomy.

Because it was all he could do.

Along with that came the visitors, myself included, each lost in their attempts to find meaning in what seemed incomprehensible. They stumbled to find the right words to reply to your pleas of "I don't want to die." Wanting to ease your pain and take your mind off of death, they attempted small talk. When all you really wanted was someone to agree with you, take your hand and say "I know and I don't want you to die, either."

The swift destruction was overwhelming. All the poison they pumped into you, and the painful, awkward experimental treatments, failed. You had been through enough.

Then finally, “Let me bring her home.”

They delivered your hospital bed the day before you died. I know because I was there, for both. It remained by the large bedroom window, unmade and unused, for several weeks. It sat to reinforce the loss.






p.s. there is a time and a place for everything and that is neither.

Well tempered.

“Something with poison in it, but attractive to the eye, and soothing to the smell.”
-Wicked Witch of the West, The Wizard of Oz





Once upon a fork in the road...

In the corner a ratty green sofa sits butted up against a water ring stained end table. There are at least four three inch burn holes in the snagged, stained fabric. Heavy, dark drapes cover the window. The time of day is a complete mystery to anyone who has spent any time here and time is all but spent.

The sofa, the room smells like piss and acid. Pizza boxes, broken plastic forks and unwanted, half-eaten food are surrounded by empty beer bottles and overfilled ash trays. A bent spoon sits on the coffee table.

Around the corner, the kitchen cupboards are bare, the fridge empty. It’s water and anti-acids for dinner; anything else would be a waste.

“Have you seen your family?”

“Well, you should. I know they miss you.”

The visit was brief and I was grateful to have had the opportunity, but for some reason I can’t help but be thankful for decisions I made long ago. I emerged almost unscathed, at least in that respect. I wish there was more I could do.

"Call me if you need anything."

In that dark room past, present and future all at once delivered upon us both, redemption.

"Yeah, I will."






p.s. it is round there aren't any sides.

They said you said what I said to you

Your subtlety lacks finesse. Either it is, or it isn’t.

And, we know it is.

But it is incomplete, isn’t it. What is it that was left out or held back?

Well, let me remind you.

Fear at all hours of the day and night. And, I couldn’t breathe without suggesting abandon, so I suffocated from repression. Then, managing the never ending time spent attempting to quell your irrational needs killed me. It was never enough, the time, the attention, the truth, so I finally caved. Yet, the debate continued. And, you couldn’t stop me or make me change my mind, and that infuriated you. But, instead of pushing so hard you would have been better off just killing time.

But, I relent and you suffer delusion and sometimes it was the other way around.

It was like this; there, assembled from misery, denial and frustration, we produced an alternate reality. Can we just admit that it was unnatural? Not quite forced, but awfully close. If so, then we’ll leave it at that.

In the end, it was finished. I’m surprised we held out as long as we did.

And yes, “it was grand, and we have the pictures to prove it.”

Now it’s just shit and we are both shoveling.





p.s. while hiding beneath the window, crying.

Obviously.

I Hate Swimming

I am barefoot
and the pavement burns
my pale soles.
I begin to shuffle
first to the left
then, right.
Holding each
until I can no longer stand
without wobble.
I would seek shelter
but, that would find
me leaving you
alone, again.
And, I can’t.
Won’t.
Your willful eyes
and your exuberance
stand with me.
I am here
to brave the burn.





p.s. all that stuff about going blind is a lie.

The day after the day after tomorrow.

I arrived suddenly, and knew for certain that I was in the best place. It was warm and calm and I stood quietly in the moment, waiting for my turn. But, I quickly realized I was alone. Figuring my wait would be short; I let out a breath releasing the smoke from my lungs and viewed my new environment. All around me the black tar covered ground seemed endless, as if I stood in the parking lot for the world’s demise. Its emptiness ran undisturbed to the limits of my sight, and I thought, “When does it all get here?” Then, as I dropped my spent cigarette to the ground, intending to snub it out with the toe of my boot, something caught my eye.

At the hem of my faded, old black shirt was a white thread and without reflection I pulled it. As I pulled, it continued to reveal itself. So I continued to pull, believing that my shirt would soon unravel. But instead, my shirt remained intact while the string started to wind around itself, twining, until it became as thick as a hangman’s rope. With both my hands I began to work against gravity to slow it down, but it quickly stole my grip allowing the rope to spill out, coiling at my feet. When it stopped its fall, the weight of it almost pulled me over and I realized it must be connected to me. I pulled up my shirt and discovered it cleanly attached to the center of my chest.

Then I noticed smoke coming up from the center of the pile and realized the rope had coiled itself around my still lit cigarette. I frantically began to kick at the rope, fearing that it would fuse its way to my heart, igniting it. My success gave way to alarm as I heard from behind me the approaching sound of children’s laughter. When I turned, they were upon me. Several of them grabbed the rope and ran past me. As I watched the rope begin to take off I grabbed for it, but it slipped in my hand. When it disconnected from my chest I fell to the ground and grabbed for its end, but it trailed off behind them, leaving an inky trace.

I remained on my knees. A dull pain echoed in my chest as I watched the children huddle together holding hands to ears, whispering. Several of them looked over at me, but quickly returned to their attention to the group. I felt like an idiot. Oddly, they seemed unfazed by my presence and began to jump rope, their laughter in time with its swooshing rhythm. So, I asked them “Don’t you know you’re playing with the end of me?” My reply came in the most unexpected way, as the smallest of all the children approached me with the seeping end of the rope, smiled and said, “It’s your turn.”



p.s. I’m always fucking late.