Alas, alas awaken little soldier.
Your time is here.
But I know you cannot wake.
You are too lost in that perfect dream.
The dream is death is consciousness at another level.
Fight little soldier, oh fight.
Do not give up.
We can make it.
You can make it.
You know it would be poetic if I painted a beautiful picture of this place, if I let the artist’s brush move in graceful exquisite ways but then that wouldn’t be truth.
This is a place of complete desperation, fear and the sheer force of giving up and that’s not just for the patients but it’s also for the hired help. The nurses, aides, doctors, administrators, cooks, cleaners and maintenance. We are all here dancing with the shadow death terpsichoreans.
There is a haunting in a place like this especially in the middle of the night when you hear coming from one of the rooms,
“I need help!”
“Help me please!”
I need help!”
No one will come to help because this ghost spirit has been crying for help for what seems
like a millenia.
It’s a sad and lonely walk at two in the morning in this place. You can peer into their rooms as they all sleep and cry or whisper for their make believe God to come and take them away from this solitude, the black darkness, the futility.
So many other cultures treat their elderly and handicapped with a gathering of reverence and respect. They understand that the old and broken have tremendous stories to tell and can teach us all so many lessons but of course we don’t see it that way. We must hide away those who are unique, those who are old, sick, broken and damaged, and, frankly who the hell decided what is broken or damaged. I am not broken or damaged! I have had a few near misses and close calls but I am still a vital and important part of this all just as every creature in the place is.
They won’t listen to you as an individual. I don’t think it’s done out of disrespect. Instead it’s just out of what is easier and what won’t ruffle the feathers of someone in charge. See, they can go to their happy place and listen to us rage and sooner or later we stop and shuffle off to get the nightly snack of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a glass of milk, well if you are lucky.
Sunday at the flea market or at least this Sunday has been a struggle. Everyone that came in to day roared up to my desk and started pissing and moaning and bitching about petty ridiculous shit and I just wasn’t in the mood for it. I tried to listen and be empathetic but it didn’t take long for me to bark right back and tell them all to stop being so childish and start living in the real world.
It’s just one of those days where I am just not tolerant. In fact I could see walking away from this and never looking back, which, would be a terrible mistake on my part, but that doesn’t change the fact that the feeling of Wanderlust never leaves completely
Bird is teaching macrame at twenty five dollars a pop. Teacher Angry Old Marge is at war with Prepper Psycho Jed who always makes a point of telling me that he goes to his anger management class every Tuesday. I guess he wants me to know that he could go off at any moment. Man the poor bastard just doesn’t know who is talking to right now, does he?
I was bombarded with negative energy as soon as I walked through the door this cold Sunday morning. Every single person that came up to me had something to bitch, piss and moan and complain about and I very politely listened and gave some pat answer that would satisfy them for a while. I wondered how long it took before those answers just wouldn’t be enough anymore.
I felt my happiness seeping out of my body.
I felt agitated.
The liars and storytellers of just exactly how miserable their lives really are came shuffling in living every second of their limited lives in denial. Oh mama I could just feel the energy being pulled out of my body.
The bird was the only one that was flying above it all. She had her gifts surrounding her. She was protected by her spiritual comfortable consciousness. Oh while the rest of us just struggled so desperately, and for most they just became bitter and filled with malace when they had to finally sucumb to their own limitations, thier own desire to pass away from this life and give it all up.
I just felt angry.
Dylan is babbling the meaning of life and frankly I haven’t heard a word that he has said but it seems that his voice penetrates the walls and even though the words don’t feel familiar, the message is perfectly clear.
Is anyone listening to their old worn out hearts. The beating drums of our sorrow is obliterating the beautiful music of consciousness.
It’s really not that difficult folks, just stop the denial. Stop the damn fear and the human complete hinging on a small creature that achieved it’s own consciousness a long time ago, and damnit get your man down and wash his dirty ass. It’s the most you could do to save the rest of us from that smell of death that penetrates everything.
She washed her hands with sanitizer till they were bleeding and she spent so much time and energy taking care of her son and husband and grandchildren that she ended up in the hospital ER alone where she died.
I don’t care what you say or what you may think you are going to say. The answer is right the hell in front of you. Shut the fuck up and listen to someone else. Your plan isn’t working and you are beginning to bring us all down. You are going to force me to have to finally make a decision on your behavior and how you are really affecting everyone so negatively that it will be time for you to go, and, you will have to take your fellow lemmings with you.
For God’s sake stop letting that creature lick you like that.
Ah mama I used to think there was a God but I watched him sail away on a psychedelic cloud laughing his fool ass off at the fallacy of his creation.