BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Heavy sigh ...

Well, I wrote this yesterday morning ... but yesterday night was one of the more surreal through-the-looking-glass nightmares I've been through of late, which is, frankly, saying one hell of a lot. Sometimes I think that it HAS to be me ... that I must be INSANE since the odds against EVERYBODY around me all going fucking nuts at once seem to be a bit high ... but it at least SEEMS like I am this center point of calm (or at least morbid resignation) and everyone close to me is going psychotic. I don't know, I suppose that if I HAD gone "off the deep end", I probably wouldn't recognize it, would I? I mean, what are the odds that I would NEVER GET A FUCKING REPLY TO ANY GOD-DAMNED RESUMES I SEND OUT? Again, you would think I'd be at least getting those "eat shit and die, motherfucking loser, we'll stuff this in a file cabinet and then throw it out in a year" notes, but there is NOTHING. It seems like it's just me set within a swirling chaotic world full of freaked-out LUNATICS and evil, scheming, hateful functionaries ... a universe of Little Hitlers, who will not rest until I have been broken, destroyed, and eradicated. Again, yeah, I'm probably nuts ... everybody's probably just FINE around me, and there are fucking GOBLINS eating my faxed and mailed resumes before they get where they're sent.

                    THESE MANY FORMS OF DEATH

                    frozen hours
                    embedded days
                    we descend
                    as if in Lucite
                    a semblance
                    of being, life
                    but hard and dead
                    unchanging, cold

                    there is no movement
                    there is no growth
                    we are locked into
                    a cycle, almost sleep,
                    a dull place, without action,
                    a grey place which repeats
                    frustration's tango ...
                    try & fail, try & fail, try & fail

                    patterns warp
                    but never change
                    we are cursed to this,
                    cast down to worlds
                    too blind, too mundane;
                    fated to be alien,
                    to be exile, anathema
                    to the shadow mass

                    we can find
                    no place for us
                    no niche, no role
                    no way to be
                    and at every turn
                    the monster waits
                    seeking to destroy
                    everything we mean

                    I fear the future
                    bears steeper declines
                    and more brutal forms
                    of degradation
                    as all our truths are stripped away
                    replaced by lies
                    and dull conformance to the norm ...
                    how much like death is that?

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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