Despite feeling like shit (I'm tired, achy, semi-dizzy, and wanting to do nothing more taxing than laying down), we went to the Bears game today. The Wife got my tickets for my birthday. Fortunately, the weather cooperated, and it was sunny and "warm" (it was too hot for jackets or sweaters) almost all game ... but then right at the end of the game it started raining ... by the time we were over where the busses pick up it was TORENTIALLY raining, and we were about 100 people back in the line for the 146. We decided to duck into the Field Museum and have a cup of coffee down at the McDonalds there until the storm blew over (thank god for family membership deals!). We had left The Girls with my mom ... and everybody "played nice", so by the time we got back up there nobody was sulky. Very good. Heck, the little one even took a nap!
Anyway, wrote this Saturday. I feel like shit, my life is shit, my finances are worse than shit, but, hey, I can still write poetry! Not that ANYBODY is intereted in reading it. Blah, blah, blah ... sure hope I win the Lottery. Pretty much fucked if I don't.
THIS DEPTH, THIS DESCENDING
the haze encloses
and nothing seems real
we lose all focus
all ability to do
spun through maelstroms
of anguish, ache, and doubt
we find no landmarks
no way to define "here"
too much confusion
too many conflicts
everything blurs
indistinct in passage
we can not filter
the streaming time
we can not sort
the elements of day
we try to structure
the options and stance
but environments shift here
and drive us insane
strange sleep enfolds us
dragging us down
we struggle against this
and once again lose
deep in this illness
we find no routes out
we are tainted and poisoned
broken and beat
crawling through hours
of hideous pain
reaching for something
beyond this dull plane
and yet we fear
we'll never win
that this game runs
forever to our death
counting up points
on opposition's board
for every discomfort
every terror, every tear
- Brendan Tripp
10/13/2001
Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp